Living Year to Year, Book Two
by Doreen Tracy
Summary: The continuing lives of Sam and Al after Sam comes home. Things don't always go smoothly and there are new problems to deal with, along with new friends. slash
1. Chapter 1

Living Year to Year Book 2

Chapter 1

It had been some days since Sam's conversation with Katie. Al placed toast and fruit in front of Sam, watching like a hawk as the younger man started to eat. In Al's eyes, Sam was still far too thin, too preoccupied with life in general to even eat a meal.

"I have to make plane reservations," Sam said around a bite of toast.

"Don't bother; I'll have Hayley do it. That's her job. You'll have to hire your own secretary soon, to handle all that sort of business." Al sipped reflectively at his coffee, trying desperately to wake up.

"Reservations for two?" Sam asked hopefully.

Sighing, Al, set his cup down, shaking his head. "We've been over that before, kid. No way."

Not wanting another row on that subject, Sam decided to drop it for now. "What's on the agenda?"

"Big day, Sam. Admiral Holtzman from HQ - starting the debriefing, needs the info from you. Gushie had Ziggy spit cut data all night, you know that." Sam nodded wearily, remembering the past week of collaborating. "Holtzman is a good guy, lots of kick, but no bite. I've known him for ages. Think you can handle him?"

"I can handle you," Sam said with a grin.

"Sometimes," Al said darkly, remembering the night before. "Not as often as you'd like to."

Sam stirred in the chair uncomfortably. "Just one thing, and I'll drop it forever, okay?" Al looked up expectantly. "What did Tom say to you yesterday?"

Sighing, Al shook his head. It was becoming an old conversation. "Same broken record. Drop it, Sam."

"I just want to know what he said so I can discuss it with him once I get to Indiana."

"And ruin your whole time up there. Well, no way, kid. It's between him and me, and eventually the whole thing will blow over. You're mother is the main thing, Sam. Sit with her and tell her everything. I've made sure that she was in on the clearance. You can give her an explanation of your... absence, and she'll believe you."

"She's pretty sick, Al." For a moment, Sam looked like every bit of his forty- six years. "I'll have to be careful. From what I've been told by her doctor, it might be wise just to talk, not make a fuss about anything. The only thing she wants is me near her. Tom is a little resentful-he gets that way every time Mom is talking about my trip home. Can't say I blame him. I know he's been the one with her while I was gone. It's like that story in the Bible where the older brother resents the younger for being treated well after a long absence." He forced down the lump that was forming in his throat.

Al's eyes narrowed. "What did he tell you? Chew you out? Make you feel like a total asshole because you weren't there?"

"They have to allow me a week soon, Al, " Sam blinked back the emotion that threatened to spill down his face. "Every day she slips a little more. There's nothing they can do - I've checked."

That explained a few things, Al thought. Those nights Sam was late returning from the Project the last few weeks. He'd been driving himself; between his therapy and working on Ziggy... Before leaving work, Al would check on Sam, making sure he was okay, and find him working on the computer, or on the phone. The kid would give him a grin and convince him he'd be home soon. Sometimes 'soon' would be several hours.

Sam had risen from the table, his breakfast, for the most part, untouched. "Sam, you really..."

Sam's gentle hand was on Al' s uniformed shoulder, squeezing gently. "I'll be fine, Al. When we get to the Project I'll grab a snack or something."

"We're going in together today. I'll have Hayley check on your flight, kid." Al said the words tightly, his internal organs churning at the thought of losing Sam for even a week. Snapping into Admiral mode to hide further emotions, he got up from the table and cleared the dishes.

More than ever, Sam was sensitive to the turbulence that played across his lover's face. He went to the sink and wrapped his arms around the slim waist, his head on Al's shoulder. Pulling him close against him, he tried to reassure the older man with his touch.

"Work, kid." Al gently maneuvered out of Sam's embrace, and gave him a light kiss before completely breaking away. "I don't want to get too hot and bothered before that damn debriefing." He grabbed his coffee cup and refilled it as Sam watched him. The older man tried to avoid the disappointed look that shone in the greenish eyes. It would be hard enough losing hi-n for a full week, and he had to adjust to it in the only way he knew.

Sam retrieved his shoes from the bedroom. and slipped the Nikes over his feet, reaching to flop the Velcro tabs over his arch. Al's hands appeared, gently taking the work out of Sam's hands and snugging the tabs over securely. Sam gently ran his fingers over Al's hair, comforting and gentle. "It's like you said, only a week," he said softly.

"It'll seem like forever," Al said, then instantly reverted to a cooler mode. "C'mon, kid. Holtzman's waiting.

Diary of Sam Beckett: Entry 1100. May 1, 1999.

Debriefing numero uno. Spent most of the time trying my best to keep my temper in check. Some of the cross-examination was getting to me. Still and all, it's amazing to see what I accomplished on the Leaps, and yet to worry about the repercussions. At the rate we're going, it might take months, even years, to really correlate all this information. Ziggy still completing background checks. Admiral Holtzman is a lot like Al, easy to work with, jovial, and curious as hell. It seemed I couldn't get a word in edgewise between his questions. We skimmed around Leaps, taking them in and out of order. Sometimes it was hard for me to remember a certain angle, but my memory is intact at the main details. Thank God. And then, there were times when I'd rather forget. When I was a chimp, for example, or a police officer in San Diego. Somehow the real details of that particular leap never came to the forefront. I was glad for that. Al left the room the moment it was mentioned and I wanted to follow him. Holtzman was too wound up in the story to notice Al had gone. When he returned I was relaying some of the stories about being a woman, how it really felt. The Admiral seemed fascinated, asking a lot of questions I couldn't or wouldn't answer. I'm not looking forward to the time when the press asks the same.

One more day of this, then we wait for the correlation. The real details, what was changed, what remained the same. That could take up to a month.

Reservations had been made so Sam would finish his work on the second day of debriefing and go immediately to the airport. Security would assist him in any way possible, helping him avoid the press, if any. Al made sure it was a private flight, with a pilot he trusted, not wanting Sam to have to through the agonies of a commercial flight where he might be recognized.

"What do you mean, you can't see me off?" Snapping the catches on his luggage. Sam turned to glare indignantly at his friend.

"Don't give me that look. Sam." It was late and Al was tired from the day. Maybe it was age, or just stress, but all he wanted was to fall into bed and sleep. "There's still press monitoring at the airport. They take one look and see me and they'll flock around you like a herd of pigs. I can't risk you getting that kind of attention right now. Are you ready to answer the kind of questions they'll ask?"

"Probably not," Sam sighed, setting his suitcase by the bedroom door. He took off his robe and laid on the waterbed, allowing Al to toss the blankets over him. "I was just hoping that you'd be there, that's all."

"Tony is going to fly you over the Project, if that's any consolation.." Al took his place at Sam's side and put his cigar out in the ashtray before turning the lamp off. The room plunged into darkness. "You've never seen what God hath wrought from the air since that day I took you up."

"A long time ago." Sam remembered that day, the bright exuberance of Al, flying as if the very air around him was a part of what he was. "Maybe you can take me up again sometime."

"I'd like that, Sam. Maybe after you come home we can go for a nice long flight and visit that cabin I own in Canada. Just over the border near Cranbrook, B.C. Won it in a poker game with a guy from the Northwest Territory. Honest to God rustic, just the best place in the world."

"I like it here best, I think." Sam rolled over to lay his head on the older man's chest. "What I really want to do is go exploring again, in those caves."

"Underground? Count me out, kid." Al gently brushed through the soft brown hair, wrapping his arm around Sam and holding him close. "I hate subways, let alone a cave. Uh-uh. 'Bena, now, she'll go with you, have the time of her life, too. Maybe you two can take those stupid horses and have a day of it. Next week maybe, after you come home."

"Will you miss me?"

"Aw, c'mon, Sam. It's a stinking seven days. My God, I'm as far as the phone. If you need someone to talk to, take the cellular, lock yourself in the John..."

"Like on a Leap. Sometimes that was the only place we could talk."

"That's what they made them for, kid. So we could talk in ' em without interference. Just grab the cellular and stick it in your bag. And for Christ's sake, don't let Tom lay a load of crap on you. That just bites my butt knowing he's up to something like that. If he starts up, avoid him."

"That might be difficult, Al. I'm not too worried. It's going to be damned odd being away from the Project."

"I bet. Before you leaped you hadn't been home in years. Kate was on my back to get you over to Hawaii for the holidays, and then, well, you left. I sure had to do some fast talking out of that situation, kid. You owe me."

"More than you'll ever know," Sam said softly, rolling over and tugging playfully on his friend's arm. Even in the dark, his greenish eyes picked up a faint twinkle from the security light outside.

"Aw, Sam, seven a.m. is going to come mighty early."

"What?" The hurt in the word came out plain. "I won't see you for a week, Al. I'm going to miss you, even if you want to pretend you won't."

"Now you're a psychic."

"After years of constant contact I can read your mind like a book." Sam pulled the other man close, cradling his head on his chest. "I'm coming back, Al. Absence makes the heart grow fonder."

"Yuck. Clichés, kid. I hate 'em." Al turned and kissed Sam, his lips and tongue telegraphing how he really felt. He broke the embrace, enjoying the look on his kid's face. Pure satisfaction, like a cat that had been stroked correctly. He straddled the spare form, kissing down the long body until he reached his groin. Sam was not completely erect, yet.

They made love, as carefully and slowly as they could, bringing each other to climax, prolonging the feeling for as long as they could. Morning came far too early and both were grumpy when the alarm rang.

Al pressed Sam back against the pillows and gently let him know he could rest for just a little while longer while he made breakfast. The younger man was unused to waking quickly, as he had been before Leaping. Al, career Navy, could rise and dress in moments, providing coffee was ready and waiting.

Thankfully, the coffee pot had been set by Sam the night before, and the wonderful aroma of wake up juice stirred through the air of the kitchen. Taking his largest cup, Al poured himself a hefty draught, and enjoyed the smell before taking a sip. Breakfast. In an hour, Tony would be here to pick Sam up.

He toasted English muffins, spread generously with strawberry jam and butter. Juice and a cup of fresh tea for Sam, who wasn't much of a coffee person and preferred leaves to grounds.

He went to the bedroom to wake Sam up and was surprised to see his friend dressed and ready, his hair damp from a shower. The bed was made, and everything in place.

"I thought you'd still be asleep," Al stated, sounding just a bit disappointed. "Breakfast is ready."

Getting up from where he'd been sitting on the bed, Sam came over and wrapped Al in the tightest hug possible without breaking his ribs. He smiled as Al buried his face into his shirt, trying desperately to hide his expression. Sam bent down and gently kissed his friend's head. "I'll be back before you know it."

"I'm not worried, Sam." Al turned out of the embrace, his face stiff and formal. It was the only shield he had against deeper emotions, and it helped him hide the fear. Sam away for a week - the world out there might not be kind and his family not what he expected or wanted. His brother was practically a stranger to him. "You call me, every damn day, Sam. Did you pack the cellular?"

"It's in my small bag," Sam said, hefting the soft brown leather case by his feet. "I won't forget."

"I arranged for extra security up there." He frowned at the face Sam made. "Listen, do you want to be a prisoner? Those press nozzles will have you by the balls if the troops aren't around."

They ate breakfast, Sam straying looks at Al, wondering what it would be like after all this time, to not have that face to look at first thing in the morning. The older man seemed placid, content, and very cool. It was his way of pushing away worry and emotion, and Sam understood. It hurt for him to say goodbye, even for a week. He decided to not bring up the will he miss me question anymore, at least not right now.

The doorbell rang as they were placing the dishes in the sink. Al was alarmed at the way Sam braced himself against the counter, his eyes closed tight. The tremblings had begun, clearly felt as the older man touched his back gently. "Okay, kid. It's just Tony. He'll take good care of you. C'mon, Sam."

The muscles untensed, and Sam gripped Al's hand for all he was worth, the tears flowing freely down his cheeks. "I'm going to miss you so much," he said.

"Don't get me started. You'll be fine, and so busy you won't remember this old curmudgeon. Now, grab your bags and get out the door. Fast, before you change that damn mind of yours." His face remained impassive, as he hustled Sam towards the living room. The doorbell rang again.

Sam's stricken face turned towards Al as he headed out. He couldn't resist the vulnerability there. "Keep your pants on, Tony," Al yelled. Pulling Sam towards him, he memorized the way he smelled, what this moment was like. Someone sorry to leave him, even to the point of tears, had never happened before - except Trudy. Beth had never cried when he left. She had been a lot like him in that respect; avoiding the emotional because it hurt. He gave Sam one final kiss, making sure he poured every ounce of love he couldn't outwardly express into it. "Now calm down, Sam, or you'll be a mess when you get home." He placed both his hands on Sam's cheeks, framing the expressive face. "You gonna be okay?"

Not able to speak without breaking down, Sam simply nodded. He wiped away the lingering tears with the back of his hand as Al assisted him with his luggage, really just a bag and a suitcase. His laptop was packed, clothes, and toiletries.

Al watched as the car moved away, Sam giving him a brief wave before the vehicle disappeared around the corner of the drive. He closed the door behind him, listening to the sounds of the empty house. The bathroom and a hot shower, then on to work. Get his mind off this. The room was still warm from Sam's shower. His towels were neatly hung over the rack, still damp from his shower. Al buried his face in one of them, not quite knowing how he'd make it a without the kid. He thought over the words that would be his litany this week. He'd be back soon. 'Alone' was an old friend of his, and he'd find ways to make it through this, without letting on to Sam that he was missing him. He couldn't smother him with this love. It might chase him further away than Indiana.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Day 1

Al caught the phone on the first ring, barely awake. Day was just barely stealing over the horizon. "This had better be good," he growled into the receiver.

"Better 'n good. It's me."

"Me who?"

"Al! "

"Oh you. That guy that didn't call me last night. Tony did, said you landed and were home. Small comfort."

"I got a little, well, distracted."

"Oh?"

"Just a bunch of friends from town, you know. And Mom. She's home so I was pretty busy. I'm sorry I didn't call."

"No biggee, kid. Did you get enough sleep?"

"Yes, daddy."

"Christ, Sam watch what you say. Tom is going to blow a gasket if he hears you talking like that."

"Tom went to town, and everyone else is inside. You don't sound so good."

"Um. " Couldn't hide a thing from- this one. He'd spent most of the night watching the walls and drinking Jack Daniels. A hefty combination. "I'm fine, Sam."

"Hangover?"

"Might be."

"Um."

"Um. "

"Al, what room are you in?"

"Mine. In my own bed, thank you very much."

"Oh. You could crash in mine. It's better for your back. You don't snore as much and..."

"Yes, Dr. Beckett." It actually felt damned good to hear the man sound like himself again. "How is your Mom?"

"Happy." The voice on the other end sounded hesitant and instantly changed the subject. "How's the weather?"

"The usual. Sam, tell me what's going on?"

A soft sigh. "She's sick, Al. Looks old, but God if you could've seen her face when she saw me. She asked about you once she settled down. Mentioned a letter she'd just sent you."

"Oh?"

"You should get it before I'm home. I sat with her all night, just kept her company, When I started to fall asleep she made me lay down and rest. It felt so good to be near her, Al. Like I was a kid again. We talked, about Dad, Tom, everything. She didn't ask about my cane. but... I could see it in her eyes."

"Tell her about it, Sam. She'll worry if you don't. Your mom needs to know that you'll be okay. She'll chew you out for it, but you still haven't gotten your fair share of that yet."

"Oh boy. Like I need that. Anyway, I will tell her. She deserves that much. Thanks for the extra guards."

Al's hand gripped phone tightly. If Sam was glad for the security it must be bad. "They doing their job?"

"They keep the worst away. Sometimes I hear them when other people go out, like last night. I can trust my friends, and Tom, but we still have all these delivery people, just for the farm, getting the milk, and that. They search everything."

"Good." They'll keep him safe, since I can't be there.

"Mom might be better off here than in a hospital. She got up this morning, and Jackie says she hasn't done that for a month. Even Tom was in a good mood after that. He's glad I'm home, maybe even mellowing down a bit. We're working together, getting some things done around here that have been neglected."

"You just take it easy. You're recovering too, remember. Where are you calling from?"

"The porch - the swing. It's cold, Al. Winter. I almost forgot what that was like. It's been so long since I've seen snow."

Al knew that on most Leaps, especially the more recent ones, Sam had been in warm weather, and was wistful about the holidays. He hoped he could make up those three years of lost Christmas's to him. "How cold?" he asked.

"Well, pretty cold. I can see my breath. It's March, after all." There was a hint of a chuckle in his voice.

"You should be inside; you'll catch your death."

"I'm wearing a very warm coat. Listen, I have to go but can I call later? Mom wanted to talk to you."

"Call me," Al said, closing his eyes. "I'll keep the cellular nearby."

"Gotta go. Love you."

The words were whispered, calculated calculated to make Al shiver. "Yeah, take care, Sam. Talk at you later."

Day Two

"I tried calling you four times this morning."

Al could hear the frustration in Sam's voice. "I was busy, kid. I'm in my office at the Project and Gushie is having some kind of fit and..."

"And, and, and... It's okay, Al. I'm getting a little punchy. Tom, well, you know."

"I turned off the ringer, but I won't do that again."

"Al! "

"Look, kid, I'm real busy here. Honest. It's a mess without... me staying busy. "

"Without me, right?"

"I guess so. What are you doing?"

"Too many reporters, but the guards are keeping them at bay. Except that one..."

Al's voice rose a decibel. "What one, Sam?"

"Uh, the one that got the photo. Don't be upset, please. It's nothing."

"Where the hell were the guards?"

"It's okay!" Sam tried to soothe the angry man on the other end of the line. "They banished him from the area, but didn't get his camera. He took off."

"I'm going to have some words with..."

"I'm keeping pretty busy myself. Some vacation."

Sam was trying his best to get Al to drop the subject. Sighing, the older man acquiesced. "What are you doing? Milking and sweeping, feeding the chickens, what?"

Not so much that. The cows are mostly gone, and only a few chickens anymore. It's a farm in name only. They sell some dairy products, like Dad did. Jackie works in town, and Tom has this carpentry business. I've been helping him out building cabinets."

"He behaving himself? You mentioned something about..."

"No problems, Al."

"You sound strange."

"I'm fine," Sam said too quickly. He'd wondered how long it would take for his friend to hear the nasal quality of his stuffed nose.

"You have a cold. Sitting out on that porch. Sam, Greg is going to have your butt if you get sick."

"I'm fine, Al. Really. Just a little bug and I'm eating a lot of soup and stuff. Anyway," he added playfully. "Greg isn't so much a stickler as Swarm was-he lets me get away with a lot more than he did."

"Christ, I can hear it in your voice. Maybe your Mom's doctor can give you something."

"It's nothing, okay?!"

"Doesn't sound like nothing. You might have a fever or something."

"Stop gritching, already. I have to go."

"Why?"

"I promised Mom I'd be right back in. I'm spending most of my time with her. She loved talking to you last night. You flirted with her and she didn't get in the least bit embarrassed. I remember when I was a kid and anyone saying that sort of stuff would make her blush and stammer."

"Things change, kid. I'm an expert at dealing with women. She told me you were coming down with something."

"She shouldn't have. I'm fine," he repeated patiently.

"Yeah, right."

"Al?"

"What?"

"I love you."

"Call me, kid. I won't turn the phone off."

"Okay. Bye.

Day Three

"Al?"

"Well I thought I'd call you for a change. Gushie had this problem with the flux converter and needed your advice."

"It's always a pain, Al. There isn't anything I could do about it if I were there. Why don't you come right out and say you miss me?" There was a long silence, bringing a frown to Sam's face. "Al?"

"Damn it, Sam, it's those pictures. They're all over the place. I want you home as soon as possible where we can keep that sort of stuff from happening. The Pentagon is up in arms and on my back about it..."

"I'm on vacation. There's no way I'm coming home until I'm good and ready. It won't happen again."

"They got pretty close, Sam. I want someone with you every time you step a toe out of that house."

"No way. There's times I want to be alone. Do you have any kind of idea what stuff is going through my head up here? It's not your usual family reunion, Al. There's people here I've never met before that know me so well it frightens me. Sometimes I'll get a flash of the parallel time line, most times not. I'm out in the barn now. We had dinner and one of the kids asked me about a dog I don't remember owning. It took me a minute to figure that one out, and I'm pretty damned shook up."

"I'm sorry, Sam. It's just I get worried about those nozzles."

"I want to go home now. What keeps me from doing it is Mom. Her condition. . . I don't think she'll be with us much longer. I've wasted three years, Al. Making up for lost time won't shake it, because I can't. She was healthy three years ago, and if I had stayed maybe I could've..."

"Knock that off, right now, or I'm coming up there and give you what for. Geez Louise, Sam, enjoy the time you've got and thank whoever that you made it home in time to be with her. As for the other stuff, that will all fall into place. You still haven't adjusted completely."

"That's what Verbena told me."

"You called her. Good."

"I thought she might be able to explain things. I've been out here a long time. Tom's beginning to understand, Al. I told him he needed to give me time, to remember everything. Verbena told me eventually I'll know both time lines, but it's so confusing right now."

"Take it easy, Sam." There was a touch of panic in the kid's voice. "We can go over all this when you come home. Think about that."

"It scares the hell out of me. Like I've lost part of myself."

"I know, I know, Sam." Al's eyes closed at the words. "I think I know how you feel."

"That's why it's so easy to talk to you. When you came back you changed, didn't you?"

"Oh yeah." Al knew he had to talk to Sam about a time he'd rather forget, as painful as it might be for him to do so. "Things happened. People talking to me about events and friends I didn't remember. I forgot a lot because I wasn't focusing on that, just surviving and getting home. Not the people, except... Beth. You lose a lot when your mind is on living and nothing else."

"I spent most leaps just trying to get it over with. People needed me, Al ; there wasn't much time to even think about what I'd done, then I'd be in another Leap and another person. No breaks. You told me once I was in mid-Leap sometimes for a week. To me, it was a moment of this pull, then another disaster."

"No more of that, kid. You're home - Christ, you're in Indiana, on that farm. Put this stuff behind you and enjoy yourself. When you get back we'll both sit down with Verbena and sort all this out. I promise."

"I feel better. You thinking about me?"

"Truth? All the time." Al's voice was soft. "I'm keeping pretty busy, Sam. Lots to do, especially tracing down that nozzle and shoving his Minolta down his throat."

"Only if I can help."

"They're probably in the house worried about you. Don't mess things up, Sam. Go."

"Al." Sam gripped the phone hard, wishing he could pull his friend through it. "I'll call tomorrow."

"No problem. I'm not going anywhere."

Day Four

"Hello, Sam."

"This is Tom, Admiral."

"Oh. Where's Sam?"

"Resting. He has a cold and with everything else it's taken a lot out of him. Doc consulted with his physician and gave him some meds to help him rest. He doesn't know I called."

I don't keep secrets from him."

"I know that. I had questions to ask you. About why he has trouble remembering the names of my kids, and Katie's. Why does he insist she married some guy named Chuck? She's coming tomorrow with her husband and it might really mess him up. I don't know what to do."

"Why ask me now?" Al leaned back in the living room chair, his face crossed in consternation. It was uncomfortable for him to speak to Sam's brother about any of this.

"You were right and I wasn't. Admiral. You do know him better than I do, at least now. He's scaring everyone but Mom, and she just loves him so much that it sort of cancels out whatever strangeness he's exhibiting."

"Ask him what happened after Thanksgiving, 1969, Tom." Al sighed at the choked sound on the other end. "Let him tell you that, and believe it. It changed your entire family, and might make things plainer to you. From past history, you won't believe me if I do tell you the truth."

"He's tried to tell me something, and I change the subject. It frightens me, like he's schizo, living a double life where he imagines all this stuff. One of the kids was listening to an oldies station and he started telling her some story about how Buddy Holly made up the lyrics to "Peggy Sue". It was like he was there, and it scared hell out of me."

"He was there. I saw him do it," Al replied wearily. "I've told you that before. Witnessed and certified."

"I'm trying to believe all this, but it's incredible."

"Sam isn't the next Einstein. He's got more than that old German ever did. Brilliant, inventive. To you, he's your brother, average, a kid. Just as normal as rain. You can't believe the guy you knew, who was just a little brother, could travel in time. He did."

"If I ask him questions, he tries to avoid the answers."

"Shove aside your disbelief and listen to him. Don't patronize him, or call the family doctor to play shrink, like your parents did before. God, I was pissed about that."

"The day after Thanksgiving, 1969."

"Yeah, that it was."

"You were there. Or did Sam tell you about it?"

"I was talking to Sam through most of it, but I had my suspicions. Your doctor sedated him, made him sleep. I watched over him for a while, knowing how much he wanted to change things and couldn't. He was so hurt that no one believed him. That he could see the future. You don't know how that hurt him."

"I didn't know what to do. I'm glad you had time to speak to me. After the way I've been I thought..."

"I'm available when you need me, or if Sam asks." Al took a dive into civility. "Always."

"I understand that, now. My family - he didn't remember Jackie, although he did a great job covering that for a while. And the kids - he delivered Margaret, and John was his best buddy. You don't know how it hurt them to find out he didn't remember their birthdays, or anything they tried to talk to him about."

"About Katie." Al hesitated, then decided to tell Tom all. "Do you remember some guy named Chuck that she dated, even remotely?"

"I think so. I chased him off the property, just after Dad died. He was getting rough with her. At first, she was mad at me for making him leave, but she thanked me later, saying he'd hit her."

"You saved her two years of grief, Tom. Tell Sam that, and Katie. It's important that it all comes out, good and bad."

"Two y..." There was silence for a moment. "In this other time line, or whatever?"

"Talk to Sam, Tom. I can't tell you anymore than that."

"Thank you. Admiral. I'll go check on him, maybe have a talk."

Good." Al lit a cigar, feeling the beginnings of a headache nag at him. "If he needs me, have him call. I think Sam's in good hands."

As Tom hung up, Al wondered if he really meant that, or if he wanted to go up to Indiana and bodily remove Sam from the place. Would another three days alleviate the tension between Sam and the other Becketts, or make things worse?


	3. Chapter 3

Day Five

"Hi."

"Sam! It's good to hear from you."

"God, I miss you."

"You okay? How's the cold?"

"Wiped me out. I talked to Tom. He knows everything, Al. It's fine. Well, not really fine, but better than it was. It was a lot for him to take at once, and, well, we came to an understanding. He said he spoke to you. Whatever you said helped. He listened, actually heard what I said without making a face. Katie helped. She came in this morning. Wanna say hi?"

"Sure."

There was the sound of the phone being handed to someone and a bright,"Hiya, Al! "

"Hi, Kate."

"It's pretty deep up here, but we're taking care of him. I'm baking cookies for Sam to take home to you. Mom insisted."

"What kind?" Al asked affectionately. He had a special soft spot in his heart for Sam's little sister. She'd always treated him no different than Sam, with love and respect, joking with him like a buddy.

"Chocolate macadamia nut. You'll love them." There was an off-line voice, sounding suspiciously like Tom, that said, "If you don't die first."

"I'm sure that they'll be terrific."

"Thanks for taking care of Sam all those years. If you hadn't been there, he might not be here now."

"It's okay, kiddo. Let me talk to him, okay? I'll see you soon. Come down and visit us sometime."

"Next month, maybe. I'm trying to con Jim into letting me off on my own for a while. Here's Sam."

"Hi, Al."

The older man noted the hoarseness of Sam's voice, and the way he sniffed as he spoke. "You getting any better? You sound worse."

"I'm lousy. Feel like crap." Sam blew his nose, carefully keeping the sound from going directly into the receiver. "The doctor up here says it's probably from the climate change. I have to be careful around Mom, but she wants me nearby all the time."

"Don't sneeze on her, kid. You get well. We'll have Swann look you over when you get home."

"Spare me. It's just a cold." There was the sound of movement, and a door closing. "I'm in my old room now. It's just like Tom said, like when I was in high school. Same books, bed. Just a little neater, I guess."

"What happened, Sam? Are you okay?"

"Fine. I told Tom, well, I told him everything. All of it. It was unbelievable to him, and strange, but he... I think he believed me. It made sense suddenly, when I'd say I'd forgotten this or that. He'd been gone. Al. Dead. Now, he's got the kids, great kids, and the farm, Mom being here, not Hawaii. And Kate - she still has to adjust, but she's on my side, as usual. Hates the reporters, even yelled at them as she drove in with Jim."

"I'm really glad for you, kid." Al closed his eyes, listening to the soft laugh at the other end.

"I have to tell you, it's been rough, but I'm beginning to enjoy myself. Can't wait to get home, though. Tony said he'd call you about what time I'd be there."

"You land at four p.m. That should make you home by four-thirty, five, at the latest. I'll be here, waiting."

"You will. I know that. You're my life, Al. I love you."

"I had the pool cleaned."

"What?"

"I had the pool mucked out. Got my keys, finally. Had to use that duplicate set. Damn things fell in the filter system, messed everything up."

"I just told you I loved you and you're talking about the damned pool."

"Sorry, kid."

"It's okay, Al. I know how hard it is for you to express yourself, but don't do that. Sometimes, the way I'm feeling, it hurts." His voice was grated out, straining to speak. "I want to give you everything, my life, all of it. I'm not Tina, or any of the others. I won't leave you. Do you believe me, or are you really scared?"

Al closed his eyes, knowing that, in fact, he was petrified. There had to be some way to tell Sam how he felt without actually saying the words. "I cleaned house," he said, unable to answer Sam's desperate question. "Even sent out for that special Alfredo sauce you like. Took some doing, kid. I could probably do better myself."

"I guess you could." Sam smiled, knowing Al was hedging. "You're crazy about me, too."

"Listen, kid. I checked, and you tell that pilot of yours that there's some storms through your flight plan. You be damned careful coming home, and take an antihistamine before you even think of getting on that thing he calls a plane. God, I should just come up there myself and fly you home. I can't, though. It'll be bad enough with the press and you, let alone having my mug tagging along."

"I think Tony is plenty competent, Al. He'll keep me safe."

"He'd better. Come home in one piece, okay? No later than five; I've figured that out."

"I can't wait, Al." The weariness was evident in the younger man's voice, compounded by the cold. "One more day, okay?"

"Yup," Al said. feigning cheerfulness. "Calling tomorrow?"

"We'll see. I'm going to be pretty occupied."

"Give it a break, and be with your family. There'll be a long time between reunions, kid. You'll see me every day."

"The rest of my life?"

Al swallowed, gripping the phone tightly. The words were caught in his throat.

"It's okay, Al. I love you, too."

Al set the cellular down on the kitchen counter and lit a cigar. A plan, strange thought, came to mind. It might be something he could do. God, he wanted Sam forever. Would it work with the age difference - seventeen years. He'd be dead and the kid would be alone. But, he was selfish, and wanted the commitment Sam was begging of him. Nothing, not even his first marriage, meant as much as this did.

"Admiral?"

Al rolled over in his bed, glancing at the clock. One p.m. Verbena Becks' voice on the phone was neither welcome nor wanted. "What is it? Some damned crisis? I called in sick. Is that a crime?"

"You never get that sick, Al." Her voice was teasing. "Hayley said you thought you had a bug. I bet I know what's really wrong with you."

"Oh?"

"You miss him so much you're depressed."

"Bullshit. I got a cold or something. All I want is a little sleep, and I'll be fine."

"Admiral, I've watched you mope around all week. Your best buddy is gone and all that's left is his other half, a real sad mess."

You don't know the half of it, lady. "Get off of it, 'Bena, " Al growled. "I've been overdoing it lately, maybe. Sleep is the best solution."

"So bury your head under the covers and have a nice day, or I'll come over and take you out to dinner."

"Sure." Al wanted to wring the annoying woman's neck through the receiver. She always seemed to know exactly what was on his mind with annoying correctness. "All right," he acquiesced. "I'm going to be shitty company, as sick as I'm feeling."

"You're not ill, my friend. You're depressed and need someone to have fun with. I'll be over in a couple of hours. Fire up that grill you are so proud of and we'll cook a couple of steaks and have a great time. Greg will tag along with me, I'm sure."

"Oh, oh great 'Bena." Al' s tone was rancid sarcasm. "Why don't you invite Gooshie, too?"

Fully aware of Al's annoyance, Verbena forged ahead, a smile in her voice. "Not a bad idea. We'll have a little party. : think Gush would love an invitation, and Dr. Swann, some of the Team - I'll bring a pile of steaks and some hamburger. You got soda?"

"Oh, just dandy." Al gritched as he rolled his eyes. "Yes," he sighed. "I can run and get some of that stuff, and beer." His voice turned sticky sweet. "Let's just have a great old time. I can't wait."

"Oh, put a sock in it, Admiral. We'll all have fun and it'll get your mind off of worries. Okay?"

"Fine."

"Good. See ya. "

Setting the phone down, Al tried to build up the momentum to get his butt out of bed and start living again. Verbena had a method to her madness. If Sam knew he was moping around he'd have a fit.

Thankfully, Verbena didn't make good on her threat. She arrived alone several hours later, teasing Al with a smile and dinner for two. He was relieved to not have to deal with the whole gang.

Once she left, the house was silent again. It was late enough that Al, conscious free, could go to bed. He spent the first hours tossing and turning, unable to find a comfortable position on his bed. He always seemed to sleep better with Sam, but without him there with him it felt strange and lonely.

He gazed blearily at the alarm clock, grimacing. Two a.m. He absolutely had to be out the door at seven a.m.; there was no getting around what he had to do the next day before Sam came home. First to the Project, to clear away work so he could take Sunday off, and then out to Almagordo for that errand he wanted to run. Then, home. and wait for the other man's return.

The cellular purred and Al caught it on the first ring. Only one person could be calling him at this hour. "Sam?" he queried, his voice blurred from lack of sleep.

"I had a feeling you'd still be up." The voice on the other end was touched with amusement.

"You should be asleep, kid." Al squinted at the light as he turned on the lamp. "It's damned late, and you've got a cold."

"Couldn't sleep. When I think about coming home, I'm wide awake. Are you in bed?"

"It's two a.m. Of course, I'm in bed! Where you should be."

"I am. "

"Asleep, Sam. As in unconscious, dreaming of electric sheep."

"Only computers do that. Did I wake you?"

"Yes," Al lied. "I was through the first stage of REM; out like a light. Where you should be."

"Okay then. Good night."

"Sam!" Al gripped the receiver tightly in his hand.

"Yes?"

"I wasn't asleep either, kid."

"Why did you lie?"

"I don't know. Makes it easier, I guess then saying stuff."

"I called Verbena at home. She told me..."

"She had no business telling you anything, Sam! I was, well, you know, sick, and felt like hell, and..."

"Al. All she said was that she was over to visit you. Nothing more. What did you do today?

"Uh, stayed in bed."

"The whole day."

"Well, until she came over, Sam,. "

"She didn't mention you were sick."

"Good. If she had I'd be pretty pissed off.

"You weren't sick, though."

"I was, Sam. One of those twenty-four hour things."

"I bet."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You miss the hell out of me and you won't admit it."

"Let's not go into that again."

"Al, I want a commitment."

An icy tingle crept along Al's spine. He was wide awake now. "I know that, Sam."

"I want you forever. Do you understand that? Not just another affair, Al. I want it all, everything. No playing around, no beating around the bush. I'm being selfish and unreasonable, but I don't think you've ever had anyone who loves you as much as I do. Am I making myself clear?"

"You've been thinking this over, haven't you?"

"I told my mother that you'd always be there for me, that she shouldn't worry. She understands that you come before Tom, or anyone when it comes to me. She knows what you did when I came home, and on the Leaps. How you watched over me, made sure I stayed alive and badgered me out of losing it when I wanted to just curl up and die.

"Kid..." Al swallowed, hearing the pain in Sam's voice. "There are certain things I can't say. It's not me. I have to show you how I feel, and it's not something I can put into words, okay? Are you there?"

"Yes. I understand.. I'll be home tomorrow. Al, do you love me? Are you ready for this?"

"We'll talk, Sam. Long and hard. I've got a lot of... problems. Not with you, but this load I've been carrying around the past few years. We'll fight it through together. You hear me, kid? I know I've been acting like an ass lately."

"No." A breath, almost a sigh, came over the line. "I've been pushing, forcing you to say things. I was wrong. Don't hate me."

"I don't. Please, Sam, I..."

"Look, I have to go." He could hear more than congestion in the other man's words. "Bye."

Al stared at the dead receiver for a few moments before setting it down on the night table. In the dark, he wrestled with how he could change things. The outpouring of love he was receiving that he couldn't accept fully. It was another hour before he could fall asleep.


	4. Chapter 4

As he unlocked his car door, Al heard the insistent buzz of his cellular. The moment he entered the vehicle, he stashed the small bag in the back seat and snapped up the phone.

"Where the hell have you been?"

Sam. Damn it all. He leaned on the steering wheel, just the sound of his voice draining the tension from him. He'd been so worried, what with his abrupt hang up the night before. "I'm in Alamagordo, Sam," he said carefully, closing the door and kicking aside a can as he set his legs in front of him. "Doing some shopping. Where are you?"

"In Cleveland. We hit some lousy weather and I've been trying to call you for the past two hours. I thought you'd left again, or been hurt."

The anxiety in Sam's voice came through loud and clear. "Just shopping, kid. I can't carry this damn phone with me everywhere I go. How long are you held up there?"

"Tony is getting clearance now. I'm in the VIP lounge trying to maintain a low profile. No reporters, just nosy civilians. They recognize my face, Al. I'm not in the best of moods and I really needed to hear your voice."

"You stay right where you are. Where's Tony?"

"He's coming now. You were right - he's keeping his eye on me. I'm scared to death, exposed like this. That guy, the picture - "

"All right, let me talk to your pilot, Sam. Just give him the phone and settle down."

"Okay." The phone was handed off to the other man.

"Hello?"

"Tony, get that kid out of there. Those nozzles will eat him alive."

"I'm doing precisely that, Admiral. We'll be off the ground and home - just an hour later. The weather stinks; lousy flying. Cleveland was out of the way and a real bitch, but we made it. Straight away to New Mexico from here and I just got clearance. I got some guys from airport security to watch out for over-interested people, and keep them away. We're not that far from our plane, and I'll take care of him, Al."

"See to it." His voice held all the spank of the Admiral. "No mistakes, Tony. Put Sam back on."

"No problem, Al. Here's Sam."

"Al?"

"You'll be home before you know it. I'm waiting here for you. Call me if you want, but not while you're up in the air. Somehow it's easier to monitor a call up there. I don't know why, but they can. Just get out of the damned airport. If you have to land, just call me and let me know you're safe. Understand?"

"Okay." The voice was less panicked. "I'll be home soon, Al. Thanks. And, by the way," he said, his voice teasing. "What are you doing shopping in Alamagordo? Maybe meeting an old friend?"

"Watch it, Sam. Tony is sitting there..."

"With a smirk across his face. Who's the friend, Al?"

"There's no friend here, Sam. Nobody. Just shopping, like I said."

"You couldn't get it in Carizzozo?"

"Uh, not really, Sam. Just drop it, okay? I'm not catting around, damn it." His voice was on the edge of frustration, not really knowing if Sam was kidding or not.

"I'll see you later, Admiral."

Al laid the phone on the rest and leaned back in the seat. He had the beginnings of a stress headache and his stomach was killing him. That damned ulcer Swann was constantly lecturing him about. He knew for a fact the pain would be a constant until Sam was safely in his arms at home.

The house was so silent. It was nearly seven p.m., and no phone call from Sam forthcoming. Nothing since that call from Cleveland. Either, Al thought, watching the drive from the living room window, he's had a smooth flight with no problems, or they've crashed and died. That thought made his stomach twinge again, despite the medication.

For the millionth time he lifted the phone, thinking about dialing Sam. Why not? His fingers punched in the number automatically. After the tenth ring, the operator came on the line and informed him. that the customer on the other end was off line. Disconnected. His thank you was perfunctional. All he could do was wait. With the weather as bad as it had been maybe their service had been disrupted, or the phone was deep in Sam's bag and he was unable to answer it.

Imagined sounds came to his straining ears. Every time he thought he heard a car, and then, nothing. No appearance o£ Tony's old Mazda. He slumped down on the couch, his face buried in his hands.

Suddenly, he heard the unmistakable sound of wheels on gravel and Sam's breezy, "See you later, and thanks!"

After releasing the breath he'd been holding, Al said a quick thank you to whoever and remained seated on the couch, waiting for Sam to come to him. The kid was holding the cards now, and Al had to play his hand out.

"Al?" Sam frowned as he entered through the garage door. He'd expected Al out in front, a big emotional reunion. Not the silence of a seemingly empty home. Dumping his luggage by the door, he closed it and caned his way through the hall and into the living room.

The slender, dark form was seated on the couch. "I'm home, Al. Are you okay?" His voice was full of hope, overjoyed at the sight of his friend. "I know I'm a little late, but..."

"It's okay, Sam. Sit by me. Don't ask a lot of questions now." Al let his eyes come up and gaze at Sam's face for a moment. His nose was a little red, his eyes so wide and just a little teary.

Sitting down, Sam gazed at Al, noticing the weary lines that were drawn on his face; some fresh and desperately disguised by the hand rubbed across them. "I would have called, but the phone was messed up," he said, his words rapid and desperate. "It wasn't the best flight I've taken, but certainly not the worst."

"Hear me out, Sam. I don't know how you'll feel about this." He leaned back against the couch, half-smiling.

"What?" Sam's curiosity was getting the best of him. Al didn't seem intrusive, or angry at all.

"You keep bringing up this thing about commitment." Al stirred uncomfortably on the couch. "Look, Sam, I don't know how to go about this. You've been gone a week, and, yeah, it's been hard on me. Scared the hell out of everyone when that picture appeared out of nowhere. Well, out of Indiana. Still haven't found the guy, and when I do..-"

"Hedging, Al." Sam slumped, crossing his arms over his chest. "Just say it."

The red rimmed dark eyes shot up at that, catching Sam's, a mixture of fear, reluctance, and some unspoken emotion warring for supremacy. Then they closed, and he could read them no longer. When he spoke, it was so soft that Sam had to lean close to hear the words. "When you...left this week, it was almost like when you were leaping. I couldn't really be there-not that you couldn't handle it by yourself, but I'm used to..-being there, too."

"But, Al... that's the point. You could have been there, should have-"

"No." The response was quick, firm and brooked no arguing.

Sam decided to leave that alone, for now. His friend was struggling to say something, and he was not going to give him the easy out of another argument to provide a distraction. Whatever it was, it was hard to say; the normally neat hair was swept in wayward waves by the admiral's restlessly moving hands.

"Okay." Sam prodded patiently. "So?"

"So...I need to do something...for us. Something important, something that's sort of... well, at the risk of sounding corny... I want you to make love to me tonight." The last two sentences were spoken in a breathless, nearly incoherent rush, as though he had to get it out before his courage faltered, or he changed his mind.

Sam's brow wrinkled in its familiar puzzled look. Looking at the vulnerable, open face of his dearest friend, he saw only an acceptance without reservation, a plea for something only he, Sam Beckett, could provide. As he came to realize the implications of what his lover was saying, he was alternately stunned, frightened and humbled. Al wanted this from him, was offering himself, committing himself to their relationship in the most profound way he knew.

He came out with the oldest response in the book. "Are you sure?"

"Hell, no I'm not sure. This makes it sort of.. .different. I mean, I'll belong to you in a way I've never belonged to anyone before, in a way I never even wanted before. And I'm scared, Sam. Damn scared."

Beckett sighed, not sure what to say. He got up, started to pace in the now familiar pattern, his stride hardly off at all, in spite of the cane he used. Finally, he stopped abruptly and simply sank to his knees in front of the man on the couch, and taking his face tenderly in both large hands, spoke softly.

"Listen, I...don't know if I'm ready for such a big step myself, but if that's what you want, we'll figure this out together. I do want you, and I'm scared, too. But I love you, and that's all that matters, and I love you for what you're offering me." His grip tightened briefly on the softly smiling face. The worry lines had smoothed, and the dark eyes were calm now and filled to overflowing with what Sam knew was Al's unspoken love. A tingle of excitement vibrated his nerve endings as he contemplated the new-found pleasures of the night ahead.

The room lay in shadow when he entered, the last faded pastels of a desert sunset filling the frame of the bedroom window. Sam had showered and donned faded sweatpants, bare-chested and hair barely tousled dry. His lover was wrapped in his bath blanket, seated on the edge of the bed. Kneeling in front of him once again, his eyes drank in the sight of Al's face, the freshly shaved skin gleaming with drops of moisture, the eyes dark and mysterious as a primordial forest. An aura of quiet anticipation surrounded him, its edges catching and calming the younger man with it's soothing assurance. Outside the sounds of nocturnal desert beings stirring to life created a muted natural symphony, and as he watched, his lover shivered in the cool night breeze that sifted through the open doors.

Swept by an undefinable tenderness, he carefully raised the damp terrycloth round the older man's shoulders, watching him huddle slightly into it's warmth, and was touched by the acceptance of his nurturing.

When did he become so fragile? He marveled, noting for the first time the fine tracery of lines around the dark eyes, the permanent furrows on the high forehead. Swathed in the depths of white cloth, he appeared nearly childlike, the small face turned to his in a gesture of trusting acceptance. This was the one who had been with him always, larger than life, battling committees, bullying the military into accepting his theories, fiercely pushing him when he faltered, there every single day he was leaping, confidant, advisor, protector and friend.

Reaching out to brush the damply curled hair from the baby soft skin of Al's temple, his eye caught the glint of silver in the precisely trimmed sideburns, and he bent to kiss the mute evidence of his lover's mortality.

"What?" Came the gently puzzled question.

"Nothing. . .just that I love you." Beckett's voice was a low tremble of emotion, and he sighed as his words were rewarded by a smile of indefinable sweetness, his eyes crinkling as the full lips lifted wistfully. One small hand freed itself from the white toweling to lightly finger the curve of the younger man's face, and Beckett's eyes fluttered shut at the contact. He sat still, drinking in the light touches, sighing as the butterfly tracing moved to his lips, and he felt the sensitive tissues tingle with the subtle electricity of the whisper soft touch.

Moving as though in a dream, he felt his own arms raise slowly and encircle his lover, pushing the towel away from the cool skin, impatient now to know with hands, lips and tongue this man that he loved. His hands mapped the smaller body, smoothing over the lightly haired arms and deceptively strong hands that held his shoulders, down the compact chest, raising prickled nubs with teasing fingers, down to the soft warmth of downy haired belly.

Al had raised his legs as Sam knelt between them, and his hands smoothed up and down the solid length of thigh, with long warming strokes, and was rewarded by his lover's quickening breaths. He finally bent to greet the arching length of yearning manhood, and heard his lover's low helpless moan. He made love slowly, delicately, each tongue stroke and caress a form of erotic worship, his hands nestling Al's aching cock in careful hands, lightly tracing every inch of him with lips and tongue. He reached down to cup the fragile testicles, simply warming them in his palm, one hand lightly gripping and releasing tufts of musky pubic hair, and Al half sat up, moaning, begging Sam with urgent hands to finish the act of love. Sam complied, gently pushing the other man down, engulfing him completely in the warm depths of his mouth, hands reaching to encourage the thrusting hips. Al came with soft breathless cries, his face contorting as the spasms of release swept through him, then he propped himself up, shaking, and tugged at the chestnut hair of the man still bent over him.

Sam's head rose, face flushed, lips swollen and glistening from their lovemaking, expressive eyes darkened with passion and need, and a sense of yearning that touched the older man deeply, making him long to fill that need. Sitting up, he spread his legs wide and reached down between them where Sam knelt, running stroking fingers over the heavy length of male arousal that swelled even more at his touch. Reaching to kiss Sam's lips, he tried to convey his own sense of acceptance and anticipation to his trembling young lover. He was filled with a quiet excitement, and his own hand fumbled briefly as he reached in the drawer for the special lubricant he had purchased while Sam was gone. He pressed the tube into his hand, then lay face down on the rumpled bed, feeling a faint prickle of anticipation chase down his spine as he felt Sam's large warm hands gently cup each buttock in turn, then bend to press soft kisses on the sensitive skin. He tensed, briefly, and tried to relax.

Sam froze, feeling the sudden tightness in his lover's body, and simply pressed the length of his heated body against him, his mouth close to the older man's ear, close enough to hear the quick intake of breath, and wrapped soothing arms around the stiff shoulders.

"It's okay if we don't." He breathed hoarsely, trying to hide the uncontrollable tremors of need. He made an attempt to quiet his breathing, willing to wait if necessary, till the older man was more certain. He felt rather then heard the denial as the dark head moved back and forth, then Al's whispered protest.

"No...I want this...just give me a little more time."

"We have all night." Came the tender reply. Al felt Sam's lips start a slow, tantalizing journey at the exact point where his carotid pulsed beneath the thin layer of skin, continuing in unhurried abandon across his shoulder blades, with a brief foray to tease the sensitive skin where arm and shoulder met. Simultaneously, two large hands swept in warming strokes up and down his back, brushing firm caresses that brought the blood rushing to the surface, relaxing the taut muscles and leaving a tingling awareness of their presence after they moved on. Al had never felt so vulnerable, or so cherished. He basked unabandonedly in the heat of his love's arousal.

Sam didn't hesitate as his caressing hands finally brushed over the softly rounded swell of his lover's ass. His eyes tenderly noted the light down of hair at the small of Al's back, and he impulsively pressed a soft, lingering kiss there, feeling the other man shiver. Al raised himself slightly, looking back at him, dark eyes heavy-lidded with reawakening passion. Holding his eyes, Sam deliberately repeated the gesture, watching as the dark eyes closed and his lover made a soft sound of assent. He bent and delicately traced each curve of heated flesh with tongue and lips, hands settling over the taut globes in possession, then he was parting the unresisting flesh, thumbs lightly tracing the velvety inner skin. It was warm and dark and intoxicatingly forbidden, and all his. He inhaled the sweet smell of just washed skin and faint musk, as his tongue replaced his fingers, lightly exploring the damp cleft. Al moaned faintly as the curious tongue delved deeper, touching his center, and Sam felt the muscles tauten briefly, then relax as the erotic exploration continued. His groping fingers found the tube of gel, and he quickly warmed it in his palm, then rubbed it generously up and down the inviting crack, fingers drawn unerringly to the hidden opening to his lover's body, and he tried to control his eagerness to simply push inside, teasing his lover with circling fingers until he groaned impatiently and pushed up against the tormenting digit.

"Dammit, Sam, stop teasing me." Al gasped.

"I want to make sure you're ready."

"If I were any more ready, I'd launch like a missile," came the aggravated reply.

"All right, lover."

Sam's finger slid deeply inside the pucker of flesh, and Al arched back in greeting. Encouraged, he pulled it out and pushed in again, feeling the strong muscles clutch his finger as he slid in again. Soon, he was able to wrestle two fingers into the virginal opening, and his fear of hurting his lover abated somewhat. Al relaxed further, pushing back encouragingly against his hand, and Sam felt himself barely able to contain his own excitement. When the older man raised himself to his knees, Sam knew it was time. Coating himself with shaking hands, he took a deep breath and fitted himself carefully to the waiting opening. Al grunted softly at the first press of hard flesh against his untried orifice, and Sam backed off, gritting his teeth, then Al pushed back determinedly, and Sam cried out as he felt the head of his cock glide slowly into the other man's body. Al's short muffled groan stopped him, but the other man pushed back again, and Sam held still, not willing to hurt his friend.

"Just keep going, Sam." Al gasped out. "There's no way this isn't going to hurt, so just do it." Sam bent and pressed a reassuring kiss on the sweat damp neck, then holding the narrow hips, he began a slow, careful entry into the reluctantly yielding flesh. When he was halfway in, he stopped, letting his lover rest and get used to the unaccustomed pressure. Al breathed in shallow gasps, feeling the unbearable sensation of being stretched beyond capacity ease a little as his body adjusted, and he pushed back a little, surprised at the ease of accommodating Sam once he was past the initial clench of guardian muscles. Sam moaned as he pushed back again, and Al repeated the movement, fascinated with the power he wielded over the younger man. He pushed back and Sam responded, his own hips beginning a slow in and out glide that Al felt along every inch of his newly sensitized body. The push and pull created a tantalizing friction, Sam's presence inside him like a living extension of his own body, the warm press of hard thighs against his, hands roaming up and down his sweat damp flanks, then circling his waist intimately, finally reaching to greet his newly awakened cock, one hand pressed warmly against his stomach, tenderly possessive. Al knew that he had never felt owned before as he did at this moment, locked in the most intimate way imaginable to another man, and he felt hot tears sting his eyes as Sam gave one last thrust, his involuntary shout mingling with Al's as both men released simultaneously, Al feeling the warmth of Sam's seed fill him as his own body shuddered in climax. He fell to the rumpled sheets, feeling Sam's body heavy against his own, the other man's heart a thudding rumble against his back. Sam's short staccato breaths ruffled the hairs of his neck, and he heard a faint "Love you."

Gentle lips caressed his neck, soft words of love and worry touching Al' s heart. "I'm okay, Sam," he said quietly, his voice reassuring. "It'll be better the next time, I promise. Trust me."

Sam rolled off of him, keeping one an-, around his shoulders. Al pulled him to his chest, gently cradling his lover close, playing his fingers through his tawny hair, soothing the passion tense lines into softness and rest. Rocking gently, he held Sam until he felt the tremors ease down and his own need to use the bathroom became so great he could remain in the comfortable position no longer. Sam's arms released him and Al left the warmth of the bed to pad into the bath.

When he returned, he frowned, noticing the empty bed. "Sam?" he questioned.

"I'm out here." Sam's voice filtered in from the patio. Pulling on a robe, Al wandered to where his lover stood, framed by the dying sunlight, deep blue sky against his dark, robed silhouette. The green eyes, still lazy from passion, stared out towards the horizon, taking in the expanse of desert beyond the wall that surrounded the pool. It was his favorite time, the night creeping over the desert, touching and changing everything in it's path. A gentle smile touched his face as Al came to his side, circling his waist with his arm.

Al gazed up at the much loved face, taking in every nuance of sweet satisfaction there.

"I dreamed about you every night, Al," Sam said, finally breaking his reverie. "You said you weren't with me, but you were. The thought of you kept me strong. It's so good to be home."

"It's damn good to have you here, kid." Al pulled Sam close, kissing his lips gently before releasing him. "It was good, Sam," he said, keeping his eyes locked with the other man's gaze. "Worth everything."

"Al..." Sam squinted, turning away for a moment.

"You told me once that you loved me." Al had a good idea what was on Sam's mind, and what was making his shoulders stiffen with tension. He moved his hand up, gently massaging Sam's back with his palm, rubbing through the soft velour. "That's all I need, Sam. You made this commitment long before I did. God, I wanted you, I've... loved you a long time and probably..."

"You said it."

"Uh?"

"The 'L' word. You said it."

"Oh, that. Well, Christ, Sam you knew, didn't you? I can't come out sounding like a Hallmark card every five minutes."

Sam bent and kissed the dark head at his shoulder, pulling the older man close. He took in a long shiver of breath before speaking. "I'll be ready someday, Al. When you need me to be."

"I know, Sam." Al closed his eyes, taking in every scent that wafted from his partner; clean soap, musk, the mint of his breath as his mouth moved over his. A moment to savor, serene and peaceful in the midst of chaos.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 3

Al touched Sam's forehead, brushing back the silver strands that fell over his face. Blinking in the early morning light, Sam smiled softly up at his partner's face. "What time is it," he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Seven a.m."

Frowning, Sam sat up in the bed, noticing Al was dressed, right down to his shoes. "Where are you going? It's Sunday; you don't have to work today."

"We got the whole day together, kid." Al eased the other man back onto the bed. "You should sleep in. I'm going out for maybe ten, fifteen minutes to Mack's and back. It's great to have a store nearby, even if they don't carry half what the supermarket does. We need stuff, like a paper, and some fresh milk. I got everything but that, and I know you want that every damned morning or else. Like my coffee."

"Okay." Sam's sleepy gaze was sultry. He stifled a yawn and snuggled deeper into the bedclothes, going back to sleep.

He'd almost forgotten how hard it was to wake Sam once he was settled, especially in the morning. Al kissed the other man gently and left the room.

Keeping his time within the promised fifteen minutes, Al returned, strolling into the kitchen and depositing milk in the refrigerator. As he closed the door, he felt - strange, and very uneasy. There was no sound from the bedroom, no greeting. Sam might have fallen asleep, but he had grown to expect at least a hello when he came home, regardless of almost anything.

Heart in his throat, Al took in the sight that greeted him as he entered their room. Sam was huddled into a fetal position on the bed, black silk sheets twisted around his lanky form, his face buried in the pillow he cradled in his arms. Nearby, the cellular lay, the line open and off the hook.

Turning off the phone, Al dumped it on the floor, and turned back to Sam. The younger man was breathing, his eyes shut tightly, his whole body reflecting pain. "Sam?" he asked, his voice betraying his fear. "Talk to me, kid, please." He let his hand play along Sam's tense back, smoothing over the shaking shoulders. "What happened?" No answer forthcoming, Al just pulled Sam close, frightened and desperately trying to comfort the man. His skin was chill, as if he were in shock; clammy and cool under his fingers.

Al had his suspicions, and the thought made his gut twist into a knot. Gently, he lowered Sam back to the bed and pulled the sheets over him. He didn't respond to his soft kiss, or when he left the room to make a phone call. The younger man's eyes were still clenched shut, his arms wrapped around his stomach, rocking slowly back and forth.

Using the living room phone, Al made the call to Indiana and confirmed his suspicions. Tom Beckett sounded tired, but, in a way, relieved. He was concerned about Sam's reaction; he'd been cold and distant when Tom had told him the news. There would be no funeral, he said, traces of grief in his voice, carefully covered for the Admiral's benefit. Mrs. Beckett wanted people to remember her the way she was. Al thanked Tom for telling him and cradled the phone, wondering what to do next? At least Sam would be spared a funeral, but how would he get him through this day?

Going to the kitchen, he quickly prepared his cure-all; hot milk, but didn't add the thought of brandy. He carefully carried the cup into the bedroom and set it on the side table.

"Sam?" His soft question was answered by a shiver from the other man. "You can't stay like this all day, kid. I brought you something. Sit up, okay?" Al assisted Sam to an upright position, finally getting a good look at his face. Piling pillows to support his back, Al brushed the drying tears off Sam's cheek with his thumbs. "I talked to Tom," he said, taking the cup from the table. Carefully, he placed it in Sam's hands. "Drink this."

The mellow aroma of hot milk made Sam's eyes open. He frowned for a moment, his gaze drifting up to meet Al's.

"Nothing weird, just milk, kid. It'll help you calm down." He smiled as Sam tipped the cup up and drank his 'medicine'. "That's it. All of it, and I'll stay right here with you."

The milk was hot and soothing, and Sam felt the worst of the shakes leave his shoulders. He drained the cup and handed it wordlessly back to his friend.

"Are you ready to talk?" At his words, Sam covered his face with his hands, squinching down into the pillows again. "You wanna sleep?"

"Yes." The younger man sunk into the sheets as Al pulled the blankets over his shoulder. As he bent to kiss him gently, Sam said something that chilled him, barely audible, but striking in it's tone.

"You did not kill her, Sam. Christ, stop it, right now!" He kept his voice low, and firm. "She'd had medical problems for years, before you even left, so don't lay this on yourself. You got home and spent time with her. That's what she wanted. She loved you to pieces."

Sam uncurled a bit, his eyes on the man near him, his gaze a touch uncertain and afraid.

"I'm not leaving you. Your mom made me promise to take care of you. You know, that letter she sent? It's like she knew about us, Sam." He crawled onto the bed and pulled the grieving man close. "Sure, kid, you gave up three years, and did a lot of good in that time. We both did. She understood; it was in the letter. You never did anything without a good reason, she wrote. I read it over and over, what she wanted me to tell you, if she forgot some of it. She trusted me to tell you these things if you ever needed to hear them." Sam's face was pressed close to his chest, tears soaking through the material of Al's shirt. Playing his hand through the brown strands, Al felt the tremors ease down again. His words were somehow cutting through the grief. "You took time out to be with her the last week, and knowing you like I do, you didn't waste a moment. Priority time, Mom first, everyone second, including yourself. Don't pull yourself apart about missing three years, Sam. Please. We're starting a new life now, and she was a big part of it." He sighed, eyes closing. "She wanted me to take care of you after she was gone, like I've been doing. To not let you break into pieces after this." A sob choked out as Sam gripped his shirt for support, his pain tearing out of his body as sure as he'd been knifed. "You were the one person she worried the most about. Poor choice of words, but she wanted you protected. The damned reporters really made her see how important you are to the world now. She made me see how important it was for both of us to be together forever."

Al held Sam tighter as the tears broke from him, wordless choking sounds pouring the pain out of him. Slowly, the younger man eased down, crumpling in Al's arms like tissue paper. "I didn't want to ask this," Al said softly. "Do you want a sedative? Maybe you'd feel better sleeping all day. I'll stay with you, kid."

"Yes," Sam managed, disentangling himself from Al and falling back on the bed.

For Sam to admit he needed something to put him out meant nothing but the worst to Al. He got up and went to the bathroom, returning with a pill and water. Sam obediently took the medication and held his arms out like a child for comfort. Al wrapped himself around his lover, soothing him with words and touches until he fell asleep.

It's just one thing after another, Sam. How long can you take this? Most stuff I can keep from you, like the reporters, and what the outside world can do to you, but this. God, it's hard. She really loved you, and was the only thing you had to hold from that past life, when everything was simple. She hadn't changed when everything else had. He brushed his hands through the rumpled strands of Sam's hair, hoping a good rest and his presence could keep him from crumbling completely.

Hours later, Al busied himself with a simple meal that he hoped Sam would wake up to eat. His 'patient' had slept the day away, only turning over a couple of times. He hoped the sedative did it's work and kept the dreams at bay. With the younger man's imagination his subconscious would play wicked games with him unless subdued by the drug.

A soft sound and the clatter of Sam's cane on the floor made him turn from the lettuce he was tearing into a bowl. A somewhat disoriented and thoroughly rumpled figure appeared at the doorway, robe tied loose around his slender waist.

"What time is it?"

"Almost seven, Sam." Al pulled a chair from the small table and eased the shaking man into it. He was trembling, his skin still cool to the touch. "How are you feeling?"

"Better, I think. Hungry." He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and reached and held Al close for a moment before releasing him. Their lips brushed together, a small, comforting touch. "I love you, Al. I'm glad you were here."

Touching the side of Sam's face, Al shook his head. "I'm sorry, kid. About Mom, about all of it." He stroked his cheek for a moment with the back of his hand and then returned to making the salad. "I'm making dinner; just soup, a salad. Light stuff. You said you were hungry?"

"I shouldn't be, but I am." Sam thankfully accepted the glass of juice Al handed him and drained it in a gulp. The sedative had made him thirsty and terribly hung over. He was cried out, and all that was left was a hole, seemingly cut out of his stomach. Only Al's firm presence seemed to comfort him.

Setting a steaming bowl of soup in front of Sam, napkin and spoon next to it, Al sat across and waited for his friend to eat. He smiled as he lifted the spoon and sipped at the contents of the bowl. "Tomato soup is comfort food. It's from a can," he babbled, just wanting to fill the halting silences. "Never had the knack to actually make the stuff. Ruthie made chicken soup with matzos - tried to teach me, but it never seemed the same."

A strange look came over Sam's face; a mixture of pensiveness and tremourous pain.

Pulling his chair to the other man's side, Al draped his arm across the stiff shoulders. "Talk to me, Sam. This isn't a leap, although I'm doing my best to sound like it is. I wish it was and you could fix things, but that won't happen this time."

"I could change it all," Sam whispered, setting his spoon down. "The Accelerator, Al. I could go back and..."

"Like hell you will! Please don't even think that shit." A icy fear gripped the older man when he caught a glimpse of the look on the younger man's face. The grief-stricken look had shifted to a determined one, absent of everything but obsession. Like before he'd Leaped, when the committee had given him no alternative but experiment or lose all. It was small consolation that the Accelerator was in parts all over Control. He'd seen to that, right after the Retrieval.

"It wasn't meant to be, Sam. You lost three years, but you helped so many people."

Sam's face dropped. Responsibility loomed it's ugly head once again. He couldn't prevent the first leap; he'd changed so many lives and he couldn't prevent that from happening. He thought of Jimmy, his nephew dying if he hadn't been there, Billie Jean losing her baby... each and every significant moment. "I'm being punished, " he said softly. "If I had saved you in 'Nam, prevented you from living those extra five years..." He gripped Al's hand tightly. "It's not a fair trade; three years for five years. God, I let you rot like an animal, wanting Tom alive, and now look what's happened. That Leap was for you, Al. Not me, not Tom."

"You saved Tom, and it's over. He's alive now. You won't have to go into that thing again. Damn it, Sam I won't allow it."

Stubbornly, the physicist's jaw squared. "If I work out a retrieval program..."

"No, Sam. Out of the question." Getting up from his chair, Al paced the small room furiously. "The damn thing is dismantled and it's against orders to touch it, let alone put it back together. I catch you within fifty feet of the Accelerator Chamber I'll lock you up." He froze at the betrayed expression on Sam's face. "I knew the moment you got better you'd be out for this. No way, Sam. Uh-uh. Stay the hell out of there. If I have to I'll stick guards on the place."

"And what will you have them do, Admiral?" Sam asked softly. "Shoot me on sight?"

"This is getting all blown out of proportion. I don't want to hurt you, Sam. More than anything I want to give you the world, but this is crazy. You can't change history any more. It's over."

"It's my Project and I'll say when it's over."

"Don't do this, Sam."

"I messed up." The greenish eyes, filled with remorse lifted to meet Al's. "More than that, I played God."

"No more than I did. Damn it, do you have to go theological on this again? Sam, I want to keep you this time." Turning away, a soft shudder passed over Al's small frame. "I don't think I can handle another three years like that. You might, but I can't."

"You'd leave me." The words were said flatly. "I'd come home to worse than nothing."

Al's heart was pounding, the sound loud in the quiet room. "I wouldn't leave without regrets, Sam. And it wouldn't be in my control. There's this thing that kept me going the first time, but if you did it again, I'd be out of the picture. We've touched on some of it, but I can't..."

"What Al? You'll go off and drift again without me? I'd never leap again without making sure the retrieval program is in place. You know that."

"I'm not worried, Sam because I won't allow you to Leap again. Not in this lifetime, kiddo." His voice rose, ringing out clearly. "And, and if we do manage to retrieve you, what will we bring back this time? Huh? Is it going be you or pieces/parts? I know you're losing it over Mom, and that's damned understandable, but don't throw this 'I'm going to Leap and make it all better' stuff in my face now."

"Then what am I supposed to do?" Sam got up and whipped Al around with his good arm. "I helped everyone, myself, even when you told me not to. Why didn't I follow the rules; that we couldn't help ourselves?" His face was wild, the ever shifting eyes turbulent and raging. "For three years I bounced around playing God, doing good, yes, but I want those three years, damn it."

"You're not Captain Galaxy." Al reached for and gripped his upper arms in his hands. "He tried to change his past, and couldn't. The present had to suffice, and damn it, it did. Can't you accept that? Grieve over Mom, and then, live with it."

Slumping, Sam let his head fall on Al's shoulder. The older man held him for a moment before helping him back to the table. "After you've finished eating maybe we'll go out and sit in the Jacuzzi for a while. It'll do you good, and I could use it myself."

For the remainder of the meal, Sam picked at his food, his brief appetite taken by the guilt that seemed to overwhelm him. As always, Al's concerned gaze goaded him on, making him take a forkful of salad, rewarded by a smile as he ate it. "I want to go to the Project tomorrow," he said, wiping his mouth with the napkin.

"Maybe, Sam." Al's gaze narrowed, wondering what that innocent expression was hiding. "We'll see how you feel."

"I want to work, get my mind off all of this. There's so much to do before we finish debriefing. The information accumulation has to be sorted and summarized. I want to do that myself, of course."

"You stay the hell away from the Accelerator."

"Most of what I need to do can be done in the Imaging Chamber area. If that will ease your mind, Al, I'll stay down in the depths for a while and sort all this stuff out with Gooshie and Ziggy."

What are you up to, Sam? Uneasy at his friend's calm words, Al shifted in his chair. "You know, Sam, you can use Control on the surface. Christ, that elevator ride is a bitch and a half."

"I don't mind, and it will give me time to think every day. It's quiet down there, nothing distracting like office personnel in and out." He pressed his fingers to his forehead for a moment, his eyes closing briefly. "Maybe if I can focus on this," he said. "I can get my mind off the things I screwed up."

"I'll help, Sam. We're together now, more than ever. Let's clean up these dishes and go for a long soak. You could use it."

A tiny smile appeared on Sam's face, quickly disappearing. He appeared distracted, not really paying attention to Al's words or the plates he placed in the dishwasher.

Gently taking the work from Sam's hand, Al gave the man a shove towards his bedroom. "Go on and I'll meet you out there."

When he finished. Al grabbed a couple of towels and went out to poolside. Sam was in the mid-size Jacuzzi, his head tilted back against the edge, eyes closed. Stepping into the spa, Al winced at the temperature of the water. Taking a deep breath, he slipped in, sitting on the ledge across from Sam.

The water massaged away the aching muscles, relaxing Al into an almost numbed, sleeplike state. Emotionally and physically the day had taken it's toll on him, too. "Feels great," he murmured, his eyes closing.

They snapped open as Sam moved next to him, his lips brushing against his. It was an embrace for comfort, to touch and find security there. Smiling softly, Al returned the gesture, his mouth pressing firmly over Sam's. The chlorinated water swirled around them as Sam pressed close to Al, his breath puffing gently against his neck.

Not saying a word, Al gently traced the line down the smooth back, petting and comforting as best he could. The damp edges of Sam's longish hair touched his shoulder where his head lie, tears mixing with the water around them. Leaning forward a bit, Al pulled his lover onto his lap and held him close. "You just don't know what to do, Sam. We'll make decisions together now."

"When your mother left..." Sam, worried he was bringing up painful memories that should stay buried, felt Al's arms tense at the words.

"It's okay, Sam." Sighing, Al ran his fingers through the other man's hair as he spoke. "She's dead. Been gone a long time now. I guess, at first, I hated her; still do. She was great, kid, until my sister was born. Then, she changed. The fights, her and Dad, over Trudy. She was a little baby. Mom wanted her out of the house, in a hospital somewhere. She got her wish, the bitch. When you were in Haven well - a lot of stuff ran through my head then, about Trudy, and how bad it must've been for her. How scared she would be."

The dead tone in Al's voice didn't go unnoticed. Sam was chilled by it; how the events of forty years past could still haunt Al and make him hate his mother so much. "I... Well, when I met your mother, now that was an eye-opening experience. She hugged me, baked cookies, just loved the dickens out of me without knowing anything about what I'd been through. I really needed that, to know that my mother wasn't what you'd consider normal. You shared her with me. In the three years you were gone she never ever forgot my birthday, or a holiday."

"And you had to make excuses for me."

"Well, yeah, that I did. She tried so hard to understand, you know." He buried his face in Sam's hair, gently brushing his lips across the silk. "You said that you wanted to change things, that maybe by letting Tom die you could've made it all better. Let me tell you something, Sam. I called your Mom the day after you Leaped out of Viet Nam. I dialed the regular number, or what I thought it was. not really thinking. She answered, as usual, and we started gabbing. There were sounds in the background - kids. Kate had her one, and I never heard it running around the house. Tom's kids, Sam, both of them, and your Mom telling them to hush, that she was on the phone. When I got the bill, I checked. Every call I'd made to her that month was to Elk Ridge, Indiana instead of Honolulu. She seemed so much happier in her home, with your brother taking care of everything. Of course, then, there was Tom to contend with. I could handle that, and Mom never seemed as worried about you as she had before. It was the greatest gift you could give her, Sam. Like it was meant to be, which, of course, it was."

Cradled on Al's lap, Sam felt a little of the weight of guilt lift off his shoulders. It hadn't been all for nothing, he thought. I did improve something, after all, even if it did mean Al would suffer for it. "Are you going to be okay?" Sam asked, reaching up to touch Al's face, gently fingering the lines that were so deeply etched there.

"I'm fine, Sam. You feeling any better? I hope I didn't talk too much. Sometimes I tend to go overboard."

"I did make her happy. Leaping did her some good, but you..."

"Sam." Al sighed, placing a finger against the other man's mouth for a moment. "I didn't feel a thing, honest. Whatever happened, happened. If I had come home and found Beth would we be here now, like this?"

"I didn't think about that."

"Of course you didn't." His hand fell upon Sam's leg, gently gripping his thigh and stroking the now relaxed muscles. "If we stay out here much longer we'll both shrivel up."

Reluctant to move from his comfortable position, Sam grimaced, climbing off of Al's lap and out of the Jacuzzi. He couldn't shake the feeling of melancholy that clung to him like a second skin. As he entered the bedroom he gazed at the rumpled bed for a moment, sick of the sight of it. What he really wanted was to be alone, for just a while.

"You'd better towel off or..." Al frowned. The other man was burrowing in his dresser drawers for jeans and a shirt, completely ignoring his words. "Sam?"

"I want to go out, Al." The greenish gaze met his, begging for understanding. "I need time alone, just for a little while," he said, pulling the jeans over his still wet trunks. Jerking a sweater over his head, he frowned at the expression that greeted him as he smoothed the collar over his throat. "Is my Jeep gassed up?"

"You tell me. Other than routine maintenance, I haven't touched the thing since you came home." Al strode out of the room, quelling the fear that overwhelmed him with indifference.

Pulling on a pair of soft canvas loafers, Sam grabbed his cane to follow Al. The older man was in his room, putting his robe on and lighting a cigar. He was pale and trembling. "Al..."

"Your keys are on the ring in the kitchen, Sam." Al sat down on the edge of the bed, doing his best to ignore the hurt expression on his face. "You, you just take care out there, okay? It's getting late."

Pinching his lips together, Sam made his decision. He needed out, on his own, to dispel the demons that threatened to make him crazy. He bent and kissed Al's cheek. The Admiral made no move; stone. "I won't be gone long, Al. I promise. Just a few hours."


	6. Chapter 6

He left Al sitting on the bed, and hurried out of the house. The Jeep had enough ethanol to go for a good drive, but not for too long, so he wouldn't worry Al. Right now he had to think of himself, and his sanity. For a change, he was the one running from his problems - only so he could live with them.

After several hours of driving aimlessly, Sam found himself at the apartment building of Greg Matthews. For several minutes, nearly a half hour, he sat in the Jeep, trying to figure out if he should go up, or simply drive home. Al's outright anger at his decision to work on the Project more had hurt and confused him more than he'd admit. Somehow, he could talk these things through more readily with Greg than he could with Al.

"Are you keeping me under surveillance, Dr. Beckett?"

Nearly jumping out of his skin, Sam turned and found serene blue eyes staring at him from the passenger side of the Jeep. "How the hell did you get in here?"

"Opened the door. Sat down. You were so deep into yourself you didn't even flinch when I shut the door." Leaning back in the bucket seat, Greg moved slightly, his jeans brushing against the leather upholstery. "I heard about your Mother, Sam. What can I do for you?"

"I went for a drive. Needed out of the house. Al, he..."

"He's choking you to death. I know the feeling." Greg let his head fall back against the rest, his gaze drifting out the window. "It gets that way-he wants to do everything for you, especially when you came back the way you did. Every time a crisis hits, you can guarantee he'll do everything but wipe your butt."

Grinning slightly at the choice of words, Sam felt some of the sadness lift from him. "He hasn't tried that yet," he replied. "Nearly everything else, though. I just wanted some air and to think about working and what I need to do next."

"Want some free advice?"

"What if I don't like or want it?"

"Then tell me to shut up." The steady blue gaze met his. "Put PQL to bed, Sam. There's nothing more you can do with it, and the more you try the worse it will be on the people that love you. Let it be. It'll grow to be an obsession, where you want to perfect every single item, and, finally, it'll consume you. I don't want to see that happen."

"You seem to care."

"I'm your doctor. Of course, I care." There was more that Sam could see, but Greg didn't embellish anymore on the subject. "I think what you need is a good dinner, or maybe a drink or two. What do you think?"

"I thought you didn't..."

"So I'll have a soda or something. You can have a drink, Sam. Maybe a quiet bar, some time to talk with someone, just get stuff off your mind. It's hard when you're as close to someone as you are to Al. You often think that there's nothing you can share with others that you should share with him first. It makes you feel uneasy telling secrets to anyone else, sort of a form of unfaithfulness."

"Yes, that's true."

"You need outside friends, and I'm offering my shoulder, as it were. If the bar doesn't appeal to you, come on up and I'll give you a glass of wine and time to talk."

"I need to call..." Stopping his own words, Sam frowned. He was a grown man who didn't have to answer to anyone, including his overly concerned lover. "On second thought, I think I'll just come up and talk for a while," he said, grinning thankfully at Greg.

Al paced the living room, the lights off, ears alert to every sound outside. The knowledge that Sam, even with limited movement on his left side, was a cautious driver, comforted him not a bit.

He sunk down on the couch, and shut his eyes. Maybe sheer weariness would wash away the temptation to get in his own car and go out to find him. Sam deserved his privacy. There had been other times like this, before he'd leaped, when he'd go off into the desert for hours, only to return with a new idea, or a solution to a problem that had been plaguing him for weeks. In the past months Sam's alone time had been rare, if ever. Maybe at night, when he'd been in the Waiting Room, dealing with things alone.

It was cold out there, Al thought. From prior experience, and camping trips, he recalled the Jeep had no heater. He'll catch his death, and come home with worse than a cold, just recovering from that upper respiratory thing he'd picked up in Indiana. That idea was enough to make Al stride into the kitchen and start the coffee machine to making burbling noises. He watched it lethargically, alternating glances between the coffee maker and the window. It faced White Sands, and you couldn't really see traffic on Hwy 54, but the dark beyond his reflected image stirred the fear down to his bones.

He tried hard to understand Sam's sudden mood change, how he'd left so abruptly, the stiffened expression on his face after the tender scene by the pool. His guilt was eating at him, far more than he was letting on. The empty cup in his hand fell out of shaking fingers, shattering on the floor. Snatching the broom from the small closet, he attempted to clean up the mess, kneeling to gather the larger pieces.

"Al! Are you.."

The older man fell back against the cupboards, fright at the sudden intrusion practically choking him out. His lover stood before him, looking haggard and upset, eyes ringed with dark circles. Concern for Sam overwhelmed his shock at his unnoticed return. He reached out, taking his friend's proffered hand and letting him practically lift him from the floor. The cane was becoming more of a brace than a hindrance.

"Christ, kid, are you okay?" Al pulled all of Sam close, cane and all, feeling slightly comforted by the acceptance he felt from him. "What..." As he held Sam in his arms his gaze fell on Greg, who was standing directly behind Sam.

"I stopped over at Greg's and he decided to keep me company home. Just followed me home with his car."

Suddenly, Al became aware of a distinctive odor emanating from Sam. "You've been drinking." Glancing over at Greg sharply, he snapped the words out. "Did you go to a bar?"

"Just over to Greg's. I drank a little more than I should have or was used to." Frowning, Sam brought his hands up, cupping Al's throat gently, concerned at the sharpness of his friend's tone. "I'm sorry I was gone so long, but I had to talk to him, just get some things out of my..."

"Couldn't talk to me, I take it?"

"Nothing of that! I just wanted a .."

Breaking away from Sam's hands, Al stalked across the room, then turned on Greg. "You had this all arranged! Just enough to get him in a vulnerable moment and take advantage..."

"Whoa!" Greg backed away, not wanting to get into this with Al or start an argument. "There's no way. Admiral. He showed up, and needed to talk. Sometimes you get too close to the people around you, maybe need a little distance to think things out. Sam accomplished that, and then some. These accusations fired in my direction are uncalled for." Apologetically, Greg turned to Sam. "I really think I'd better get going home. I'll see you tomorrow, or maybe next week." Tugging his coat around him, he gave Al one last look, his eyes narrowing a bit, then turned and went out the door.

"Jesus, Al! What was all that about!"

"Nothing. I just think that you'd better watch who you hang around with, that's all. I'm just damned glad you're home."

"I'm not in sixth grade, and I think I can pick my friends - Dad!" A new feeling took over Sam, something he'd not felt in some time. Outright defiance. "I decided to go to Greg's. It wasn't a conscious thought, and I don't like what you seem to be implying! He listened to me, didn't offer advice, just made me feel whole again. Let me realize that my life is my own, and I can do exactly what I please as long as I don't hurt others in the process. Made a hell of a lot of sense. You owe him a debt of gratitude. Without saying a word, he convinced me not to start the Project up again." The cold look he received made Sam's blood boil. "What is with you?"

"You go to him before you'd even think of coming to talk to me." Brushing a shaking hand through his hair, Al let out a tremendous breath before continuing. "Maybe I'm being too judgmental. Stifling you."

Sam evened his voice out to a low murmur, intense and fervent. "You weren't stifling me, Al. Please don't think that! I hurt so damned bad, worse than you can imagine. It won't go away, and it was worse once I left you. I thought that if I go away on my own for a while that it would stop, but it hasn't."

The skin on Sam's face was tight, stretched over bone, eyes wide and bright, lips tense and pale. With a pang, Al touched the smooth forehead, sighing at the heat that radiated there. Fever, as he'd feared. Maybe not so much from illness as it was from overstressed nerves, and not enough rest in the past week. Too much, too soon, not even counting the months of recuperation that he wasn't quite over yet.

What Sam needed, Al thought, brushing strands of chestnut hair from the other man's forehead, what he needed was a vacation, a real break from the Project and all other nerve-racking influences. Maybe that trip to Canada, or anywhere, but here. "All right," he finally said. "Enough about Greg. C'mon, kid," he nudged, prying Sam from the couch and into the bedroom. He helped him off with his clothes and trundled him into bed. Dropping his robe on the edge of the mattress, he slipped under the covers and slid over to Sam's side of the bed.

His arm clenched around his friend tightly, feeling the slightest tremble from the older man. "As much as it may seem that way, I'm going to handle it.

Everything. Yes, I'm scared, and not feeling well, but that will pass. You've got to allow me time with others, including Greg, to talk things out."

"I'm taking you away," Al said, finalizing the decision he'd made silently. "And it has nothing to do with Greg. God, Sam," he sighed. "You need a break, a real one. If it keeps going the way it is you'll shake apart."

"You know that's out of the question, Al." He frowned at the sudden tensing of the muscles beneath him. "All right, then. If we go off, where?" Sam brushed his smooth cheek against Al's chest, hearing the steady thrum of his heart beneath his ear. It was a comforting sound.

"Canada, like I said before. That place up by Calgary, in Alberta. We got one, maybe two days of work here that has to be done. Can you make it?"

"We can't leave here, Al. Besides the debriefing, which we've put off for a week, I've got to download Ziggy, correlate that work with Gooshie. More than that, and then some. We can't just drift out of here."

"Yes, we can," Al said softly, determined, his arm wrapping tightly around Sam. "Not only that, we will. Not one damn bureaucrat is going to tell us otherwise. Greg will be on our side, and Beeks. When we come back, you'll be ready to stand up to all of them. You can't afford to make mistakes now, Sam."

Allowing his eyes to close, Sam let the patient voice drift over him, making him wonder if he really wanted to leave for a vacation, or if the Project was the only rest he really craved.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 4

The next morning, Sam didn't bother to wait for Al. Somehow, the words said the night before were still steaming in his mind. To even accuse him of the slightest infidelity infuriated him to his toes. The pavement tearing drive to the Project site seemed to quell some of his anger towards his lover, but not all of it.

Eyes widening in surprise, Sam pulled in next to Greg who seemed to be loading several boxes into his already brimming over Jag. Stepping from his Jeep, the physicist watched as Greg lowered the last of it into the small car. "What the hell is this?" he questioned.

"I'm leaving." The quiet voice held no malice, just stating the facts. "It's not you, and it's not Al."

"That's a lie," Sam replied, just as softly. "Don't tell me otherwise. I had a talk with him last night and..."

"Sam, it's not much. Just a vacation. A...prolonged vacation." His eyes and face held a wistfulness that the other man couldn't quite surmise. "I'm going to California, see some old friends and maybe settle down for a month or two. It's been a while." His shoulders straightened as he turned to face Sam. "Look, it's not like I'm leaving for good. Al said a few days ago that he was taking you to Canada or something. I think you can use the break, and, believe me, after being on call for three and a half years, I can, too."

"I don't want you to go."

"Swann knows your case and he'll be ready the moment you call him. If it's a real emergency, I've left some numbers with Bena. Just in case." Greg swallowed hard, suddenly realizing this was becoming more difficult with every passing minute. Sam's expression was the same as a deserted puppy's. "I promise," Greg said, resting his hands gently on the other man's shoulders. "I'll be here if you need me. "

Reaching out, Sam grasped and held Greg close, gripping him in a hug. Greg had become more than his physician - bit by bit the Swiss Cheesing was wearing away, and he recalled many times that this man had been there for him before the Leap. He'd always been an encouragement, almost as much as Al had and still was. Inevitably, Sam realized, the rest of the staff would be leaving, too. "I'll miss you," he managed, pulling away.

"Take care, Sam." Quickly, Greg jumped into his car and, biting his lip over the emotion, tore out of the parking spot and out of PQL.

To Al's reckoning, Sam had disappeared. Not that he hadn't made a habit of it in the last few days. Ever since his first day back at work, and Greg's leave taking, Sam had been keeping his distance from most everyone at the Project. With the exception of three or four times, Al couldn't recall when he'd managed to bring his lover home in the last week. What worried him most was Sam's recuperating body was frail; the suggestion of food and rest made him angry and rebellious. At the mere mention of the Canadian trip Al had suggested, Sam had heartily vetoed it. As far as 'Dr. Beckett' was concerned, the Committee and Congress wanted the information from Ziggy first, and foremost, and that was A number one on Sam's agenda for now.

On the sly, when he'd not been preoccupied with paperwork and ordering people around, Al had watched Sam force himself to move and work. With every day, he could see him force his uncooperative body to walk, the tiny dark circles under his eyes becoming huge, the fought-for weight gain dissipating, thinning out and straining his health. The thought of going to Swann, who was on call for medical, or Verbena filled the Admiral with a sense of betrayal. One glaring look from Sam made him hesitate, even the suggestion of rest or vacation made the younger man turn and stiffen in anger. Nagging wouldn't work, nor mother henning. That seemed to make Sam even more furious.

The first day back at work, Al had come into the Project nearly raging. Sam had slipped away earlier than they had agreed, and when the Admiral entered the Project's grounds, he found Greg had taken a leave of absence, and Sam Beckett becoming persona non grata.

It was coming to a head, and a major league fight would ensue any day now. Al's first instinct was to bodily wrestle Sam away from the computer, drag him kicking and screaming out of the Project, and screw the scene they'd cause. A knock on his office door made his thoughts fade. "Come in," he said, pretending to work on the papers he'd been distracted from.

Gooshie? Al frowned, noting the worried look on the little programmer's face. It was a rare sight indeed to see the man outside of Control. He spent most of his time there, or scurrying through the halls of the Project, trailing reams of computer paper and mumbling to himself.

Wringing his hands in consternation, Gooshie hopped from foot to foot until Al's steel-eyed look forced him to voice his thoughts. "Admiral, Dr. Beckett is going crazy."

The pen Al held dropped to the desk, rolling to fall on the floor. "Where is he?" he questioned, eyes narrowing.

"Control. I had to see you and made excuses but he's... well, not crazy, I guess, but acting strange. Like falling asleep over the panel, or asking me for information we correlated a week ago. I don't usually complain, but he's acting just like he did before he..."

"Before he Leaped?" Al stood up shoving the chair back.

Gooshie took a step backwards, knowing the look on Al's face was only a prelude to outright fury. He'd seen it enough when the Admiral had left the I.C. during Leaps, when things had not proceeded to his satisfaction. They hadn't exactly come to blows, but the way the older man had of chewing him out was enough to make him cower for days. "I... I'd say so, Al. He's not himself, and since you and he had that last argument..."

Al pushed past Gooshie, his dark, expressive eyes flashing brilliant sparks and fire. Cajoling, nagging, even ordering hadn't helped, he thought, striding through the halls towards Control, heedless of the faces scattering out of his way. Drastic measures had to be taken or Sam would end back up in the Waiting Room.

As the doors of Control opened, Sam glanced up, not noticing the man in starched white. "Gooshie, where are those readings? I asked for them fifteen minutes ago, and..."

"Gooshie is occupied." Al leaned over the console the younger man was working at and neatly switched off the monitor. "You are going to listen to reason if it takes the rest of your life."

Sam grimaced at the sharp words, then turned an expression of pure annoyance on Al. "What do you think you're doing?"

"It's gone past talking anymore, Sam. You're planning on getting back into that... that thing." He practically spat the words out, his face red with anger and betrayal.

"Says who?"

"I can figure things out, Sam. Don't think I can't. You are reading over particular leaps, analyzing. Christ, the correlation was done days ago, wasn't it? Don't lie to me, or I'm walking out of this Project and gone, kiddo."

"Then, go." Sam gripped the edge of the console, his face masking his deeper emotions. "Just take off like everyone else." His voice was soft, weakened by lack of food and rest.

"Just because Greg..."

"You sent him away," Sam accused, barely lifting his head as he spoke. "I can do what I want. It's still my Project."

"Whatever Greg decided he did on his own. As for leaping again, you can't change shit. You can't, Sam. I won't let you get back into or rebuild that Accelerator and, sure as shooting, the Committee will post guards to keep you from going, so forget it."

"I thought you were leaving," Sam said, his voice cold and hard. "So leave."

"C'mon, Sam. I'm not leaving until you attempt to be reasonable. Have you looked at yourself lately? Christ, you're skin and bones, a real mess. What say we go home and..."

"No!" Sam shoved out of the chair and grabbed his cane, somehow attempting to escape the reasoning words. "I have a lot to do. Just don't..."

"I'll call Swann, Sam. So help me."

It was Al's trump card, something that would make Sam stop and listen, and no bluff. Greenish eyes, red rimmed and tired stared back at the Admiral in wide betrayal. "You wouldn't."

"Try me. I'm stronger than you are right now, and twice as stubborn. You look like shit, Sam. Don't forget who's in command around here. Me. If I have to drag you down the hall, I will. Do you want a panel to declare you incompetent? I don't want that, Sam. Right now you're not acting sanely."

"So take me to Swann and what happens? He blows up in my face, and ties me down to a bed for the rest of my life." The effort of fighting with his lover taking what strength was left from his body. Leaning heavily against a far panel, he made it plain he was doing his best to keep his distance from the other man.

"I did some checking and damn it, Sam you can go away for a while. What's left is for Gooshie to do, methodically, thoroughly. You can forget about Leaping again, though. As for Swann, I have this feeling he'll want you Co go off with me for a while. And Verbena has been wanting me to drag you out of here for ages. Time away from this place might do you some good, Sam. Help you get over this stage."

"Stage? I don't like that. I'm not three years old and I don't need you harping on the same old tune again. I am perfectly capable of..."

"Not now, Sam. You never even had time to grieve over your Mom. You've been so caught up in this new idea, to Leap again, and change it all, that you don't even think about the other stuff. Christ, 'Bena told me that you haven't even worked out some of the problems you had with Leaping, let alone what happened when you came home."

"I'm just fine, damn it." Sam knew the words were a lie the moment he spoke. Certainly he'd spent most of the last days buried in work, but it seemed to keep the pain from his stomach, that relentless ache in his chest subsided when he was mired in his Project. And, yes, the idea of Leaping again, to repair some of the damage he'd caused had entered his mind, on more than a subconscious level. If Gooshie could see it, and tell Al about it, then he wasn't aware of how far he'd go to gain access to the Accelerator.

"Fine, my ass. Look at yourself. Concentration camp victims looked better. Now, either we go call the doc, or I drag you to his office in town. I'm certain Bena already called him and he's waiting. She's usually more into jumping the gun on things like this than I am."

Distracted from his work, fighting with Al, and generally getting up from the chair had made Sam realize something was peculiar. His ears were humming, dark spots were darting in front of his eyes, and his equilibrium was shot to hell. Al was at his side in a moment, strong hands gripping his shoulders, concern and fear replacing the anger formerly creasing his face.

"That's it, kid." Al glanced behind him, seeing Gooshie enter the room with a worried look on his face. "We're going to see Swann and then a little trip."

"Al..."

"I'm not arguing, no way, Sam. You're out of the computer game for a while. At least a week, or two, if Swann demands it. Can you make it there or should I get some help?"

"I can walk, Al." Sam's head lifted, disappointment in himself making his eyes seem more hollow and empty.

"Is he going to be all right, Admiral?"

"I'll let you know, Gooshie," Al said gently, extracting Sam from the chair and assisting him from the room. He half-smiled as Sam gripped his forearm for support. "C'mon, kiddo, let's go see Swann. The doctor's prognosis was that Sam had a severe case of exhaustion, and a slight upper respiratory infection. The patient kept a long line of gripes going during the examination, not pleased to be taken from his work.

"Work?" Al's eyes widened. "You'll kill yourself, Sam. I'll buy you a gun and let you do yourself in cleaner and quicker, if that's your plan."

"I don't want to commit suicide, Al. " He pulled his shirt on after the examination, his mouth pulled down in a quivering pout. "I don't have time to be sick."

"Sounds familiar, Sam." Swann pocketed his stethoscope. "Same old complaints, the work being more important than your life. You forget, you're not in the same shape you were before you Leaped. In the reports that he gave me, Greg told me you haven't kept up on therapy, at least for the past couple of weeks, and not to mention what condition you arrived her in not more than two months ago. That's no time for recuperation. I'm making a recommendation that you take a rest and that the powers that be wait for their results for another two weeks. Admiral Calavicci has made the suggestion that the two of you go on vacation. I thoroughly agree and envy you. I've been trying to convince the Admiral for years to take a break, with no result except inherent stubbornness."

Al watched Sam's face for any kind of reaction. The tired lines straightened to obstinant ones, but other than that, not a word. The man was near collapse and probably unable to make more than his eyes react to anything at this point.

"I'm sorry about your mother. Dr. Beckett," Swann added, true sympathy in his eyes. "You need time to recover from that, also. The Admiral will take you home, and I advise that you stay away from the Project. If you push yourself much further you could set back your recovery. I don't think you want to be in a wheelchair again, and you're not far from that now." He frowned at the obstinate face the physicist was making and the way the Admiral's face paled. "Before you go, Dr. Beeks wants to visit with you both briefly before you step one foot out the door, to quote her. "

Sam's look had turned sullen. Al watched him like a hawk, an explosion imminent. Verbena was standing outside of Swann's door, looking worried, arms crossed over her chest as if she were cold.

With a tentative smile she faced Sam. "You look like hell, Dr. Beckett."

"Go ahead, make it worse," Sam muttered, leaning against the wall. His eyes shifted, seeing Al's worn face, bathed in concern and just a little anger.

"I'm not worsening what you're feeling right now." Verbena glanced from one man to the other. "You both need a rest. It took you nearly falling apart to make you realize that."

"I don't need a rest," Sam replied stubbornly. "I have so much to do here."

"Gooshie will manage nicely, thank you."

"Listen to Verbena, Sam," Al offered. "She's right."

"Thank you," Sam replied, his weakened voice a low growl. "You've been a real help through all this."

"Damn it, I'm going to kick your butt from here to..."

"Before this turns into a brawl, let me tell you both. Sam, would you please be honest with me? It's important."

"If you want me to leave..." Al stated reluctantly.

"No, you need to hear this so it's all out in the open." She turned back to Sam who was still slumped against the wall, gazing at her blearily. "Did you have any intention of using the Accelerator?"

Sam glanced from Verbena's face to Al's. He saw great pain there, the older man glancing at the floor to escape his penetrating gaze. "Yes," he whispered.

"Damn it, Sam." Al turned away, his back stiffening. "I guess there was nothing holding you here, then."

"That's not true, Al. You know that. I don't forget what it was like, being alone, Leaping from life to life. I thought I could change..."

The psychiatrist glanced from one man to the other, sensing something deeper here than just the fact that Sam had considered traveling in time again. Al was shaking in fury, keeping his anger in check. Sam looked ashamed and stubborn, hurt vibrating from every bone in his body. "I think it's good if you two get away together to sort things out. A vacation, if you will."

"Both you, Swann, and Al are bent to get me out of here." Suspicion reared it's ugly head, Sam's weary eyes narrowing. "What will I return to? Is this place going under the wrecking ball? Are they taking Ziggy away?"

"Of course not, Sam." Verbena sighed, exasperated. "If they were, we'd let you know, and fight along with you, every step of the way. Wouldn't we, Admiral?"

The dark eyes were uncertain, angry with Sam, hurting that the younger man had even considered leaving him. "I don't know."

"What does that mean, Al?" Sam turned, bracing heavily on his cane as he faced the older man. "You'd see this place torn down? Do you think that would change things?"

"I think you two should go home and sort this out there." Verbena could see Gooshie's curious face peeking from one of the doors down the hall. "Then take a trip and don't worry about the Project. We'll still be here when you return."

"Right," Sam said tightly, quickly turning and hobbling down the hall and away from Al and Verbena.

The psychiatrist quickly grasped Al's arm as he moved to follow. "Take care of him, Admiral," she said quickly, her eyes locking with his. "He's unstable, and upset. He's going through the grief process, and mourning more than the death of his mother. I don't know what's happened between you two, but I know you're the only one he cares about, and the only one he'll listen to."

"I'll take him away," Al said, gently easing out of her light grasp. "We'll see what happens when he gets back. If things don't change, 'Bena..." Al couldn't finish the sentence, his emotions clotting his throat. He couldn't tell this woman what was really on his mind, that if Sam's mind set didn't change, that he'd have to leave. He couldn't love someone that was on the edge like this; a man that wanted to travel in time, commit suicide for his Project and leave him alone again. He just couldn't take that again, not physically, not mentally.

Sam was standing by the Control room door, arguing with the security panel.

"I'M SORRY, DR. BECKETT."

"What the hell is this, Al?" Sam turned, intense fury reddening his cheeks. "I can't get in. Security has this place locked against my code."

"I'm sorry, Sam. My orders. While you were in with Swann."

"What gave you the right..."

"Can we just go home, Sam?" Al was tired, and he knew Sam wasn't thinking straight, wavering in near collapse. "I don't want to fight here. I had a feeling you'd make a beeline to this place and..."

"I'm taking my data with me," Sam said, teeth clenched against the headache and the unreasonable anger he was feeling. "I'm not letting the government, or anyone else take it away."

"Goddamnit, Sam!" Al was bristling in fury. "No one's going to take it away. I made sure of that, long ago. Do you think for one second I'd let them do that to you?"

Their eyes locked for a moment, then, Sam sagged. He was nearly weeping from exhaustion. "I don't know what I'm saying, Al. My head is so screwed up, and it hurts so bad. I..." He crumpled, Al catching the weakened bundle of flesh and bone before he fell completely to the floor.

"All right, kid." Al glanced anxiously down the hall, not wanting Swann to see the scene and put Sam in the infirmary again. "I'm taking you home."


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 5

The ride to the house was disturbingly silent. Sam stared out the window most of the way, deliberately ignoring Al's concerned gaze. The older man clenched his jaw against Sam's stubbornness, steering into the driveway and turning off the ignition. "Sam..."

Before another word came from his lips, the younger man was out of the car, caning his way to the door. Al followed, his expression stiffening. Sam refused to listen to even simple reasoning, Al thought, unlocking the door while Sam waited. As soon as they entered, the younger man made a beeline for the bath, and Al slumped at the table. There was more to the silence than Sam's resentment at having his work disturbed.

The older man's head snapped up as he heard the bathroom door open and Sam's cane upon the floor. More than anything, Al wanted to grab his lover and sort the entire mess out, apologize for each word said in anger, anything to remove the vacant expression from Sam's eyes. Deciding, he got up and went to the bedroom.

Sam was standing in front of the doors that led to the pool, clad in a pair of worn running pants, his bare upper body pressed against the glass. He looked defeated and angry at the same time, his lips a thin, tight line.

Sighing, Al went over, wrapping his arms from behind the spare waist, pressing his face against Sam's smooth back. The other man didn't move from the embrace, only stiffened, a tremble quaking him from head to toe.

"I was going to leave you." The words came from Sam's lips unerringingly, practically breathing each syllable. "How can you stand there and love me after that?"

"I would've gone into the Accelerator with you this time." Al closed his eyes against what it took him to say the words. "I would've dived into the blue light and dragged you back, if that's what it would've taken. There's nothing on this Earth that would have taken you away again. You're burned out-tired. God, Sam, you weren't thinking rationally." Increasing the pressure around the other man's waist, Al felt as if he held him any tighter he could keep him in this place forever. "You're a grown man, and as stubborn as I am. I couldn't con you, or beat you senseless. I had to wait, give you breathing room. If I had paid closer attention you wouldn't be in the shape you're in now, Sam."

Easing out of Al's arms, Sam turned away, reaching for his cane. "I'm fine, just very tired and achey. My head hurts. Do we have any more of those pills?"

"Another headache?" Al snapped, alarmed. His hands moved towards Sam's face and were immediately brushed aside before he could get a closer look at the other man.

"Don't go overboard," Sam reiterated, just as another stab of sharp pain lanced through his eyes.

"I take it you didn't tell Swann about this little problem?"

"It's nothing," Sam whispered, just as he slid to the floor, fingers pressed over his temples.

Horrified, Al caught him, holding the man close for a moment before pulling the clenched hands away from Sam's face. His expression was creased in pain, every line spelling deeper hurt. "My leg went numb," Sam groaned. "Like pins and needles, then, nothing."

"Great." Getting up, Al went to the phone, making a quick call to Swann, Sam's physician in Greg's absence. The reporters were still out there, somewhere, and Sam needed no further trouble from that bunch. He rushed back to Sam's side, worried out of his mind.

Lying on his side, Sam was out cold. Al debated moving him to the bed, and, instead, tossed a blanket over the rounded shoulders and sat by him on the floor. Every moment, he kept his hand in the tawny hair, fingering and smoothing each warm strand in an attempt to comfort him.

The moment Swann arrived, Al rushed to the front door and jogged the physician back to the bedroom, quickly explaining everything that had happened, especially Sam's complaint that his head had hurt. Once Swann performed a quick exam, he backed away from the still unconscious man, shaking his head.

"Same as before," the doctor said, hardening each word with harsh reality. "Just like when he first came home. His neural circuits haven't held up well under the strain. I need another brain scan, but I think he simply lost more motor function on his left side. It doesn't seem to react to stimuli the way it should. The headache is stress related, and probably occurred the moment short circuiting re-occurred. There's nothing I can do except prescribe medication and make sure you get him the hell out of here. You mentioned Canada?"

"Yes. I have a place up there."

"I hope it's remote and quiet. As far away from people as possible. You seem to be the only person he trusts around him, for now anyway. You and Dr. Matthews." Frowning, Swann noted a sour expression that touched Al's face briefly, and dismissed. Undoubtedly, Matthews had a personal problem with the Admiral, but it was none of his affair. "Get him out of here. Admiral. Soon. If you don't, he'll end up in a hospital, a real one. They'll be too much damage for the Team to repair it at the Project."

"I'll make the arrangements," Al said, determination forming his plans-whether Sam liked it or not.

"He may not be able to walk for a day or two, even a week. I don't know. I need further tests to judge that. I can have someone send you a chair he can use to get around with, or just let him utilize the canes he had before. Either way, he'll be in bad shape, and you might be frustrated, but that's life. Sam Beckett was fully aware of this risk, and knew enough to not push himself."

"And you say this condition may last just a few days?"

"Or longer. It depends on how he learns to relax, or if he plays stubborn. I'm telling you. Admiral, he'll lose more than his motor function if he keeps up at this pace."

Once Swann had left, Al let himself collapse on the soft leather couch and give himself time to think. Getting a private jet was no problem; Tony, and old Navy flyer he knew from his days in 'Nam, owed him a few. He'd have to call up to Calgary and see if he could send someone out to clean up the place, prepare it for his and Sam's arrival after years of disuse. Hell, he hadn't even seen the cabin for years, but there was a family living nearby who wrote him periodically, and kept wandering vagrants out.

Grudgingly, he pushed up from his comfortable position before he fell asleep. With the phone in his lap, he'd made several phone calls, started the ball rolling, feeling better at Tony's breezy, "Whenever you're ready." The people living near the cabin were glad to check the place out, giving themselves an excuse to get the kids out of the house to dust and sweep out the cabin and make sure lights and phone were turned on. Al had only met them a couple of times, each meeting a good experience. Trustworthy people, he'd thought, and trusted his own opinion.

Checking on Sam, Al found the spread that lay over him was still as smooth as it had been when he and Swann had dropped it over the still form. Sam slept as if dead, on his belly, arms spread over the length of the bed, mouth lax, legs sprawled under the satiny layers. Touching the smooth cheek for a moment, Al wished Sam would rouse for just enough time to eat and take his pills.

Leaving the unconscious man briefly, Al took a much needed hot shower, slipping into comfortable pajamas before easing his way into their bed. Curling against Sam's form, he lifted one sleep-heavy arm to fall over him. The movement woke the sleeping friend. "Head hurt?"

"Not bad." His heart was racing, that strange numb feeling coursing down his left side. "I tried to get out of bed and... couldn't."

"Don't sweat it, kid," Al said, trying to sound casual. "Swann says it's because you pushed yourself. You're a little... off-line. Just a day or two, maybe a little more, and you'll be back to normal."

"Can you help me? I need to use the bathroom and I..." The words tapered off.

Assisting as best he could, Al tried hard to not look as concerned as he felt. The rails he'd had installed in the bathroom came in handy. Sam gripped them as he made his way to the toilet and Al left him alone so he'd have a modicum of privacy.

"I made some arrangements so we can leave when you want-in the next couple of days. We'll fly up and..."

"Where?" Sam looked disgruntled and stubborn again, his hair flopped every which way, eyes squinting in the light from the bath.

"I told you before. Canada. The Great White North, although this time of year, we'll have to look for snow."

Using the wall as a brace, Sam plodded his way past Al. The older man didn't hesitate to notice the obstinate look on the kid's face. "We are going, bud; nothing is stopping us. I'm going to get you back on your feet if it kills you."

"And I don't have a choice."

"None. Are you hungry?"

"Ravenous. I think." Sitting on the edge of the bed, Sam pressed his fingertips against his forehead, wincing.

"Well, I think I can manage a couple of sandwiches. We got some ham, and all that turkey, cheese..."

"I don't want to go."

"You're whining, Sam. The owls are not what they seem. It's getting on my nerves. You want the straight poop? Or do you want to let the whole thing drop like a bad dream?"

"Straight."

"I don't want to see you going to the trauma center, and Swann seems to think that's where you're headed if you don't get your butt out of New Mexico and take a break. You're lucky your problems are only temporary. How bad are you going to get if I let you go back and work? I'm not going to let you kill yourself, or end up in the veggie ward of some private hospital. Now, that I've cleared the air, I'm making you a late night snack, then off to bed again. No arguments."

Sam just looked depressed, letting Al's words sink in for a change as the other man went off to the kitchen. Before he'd Leaped, he could handle three days on his feet with a snap of his fingers, nothing that a little sleep couldn't clear up. Now, he felt as if he were back to step one, and couldn't move a muscle.

"Get back up on the bed, Sam. I'll bring dinner in to you," Al called from the kitchen. The younger man obeyed, using his right hand to pull his body onto the mattress. It was almost as awkward as when he'd first gotten back on his feet, but not quite as bad.

Sweeping into the room, Al placed a tray with a sandwich and a large glass of milk in front of his newly reinstated patient. "Eat it slowly, and don't rush it, pal."

"What is it?"

"Turkey and stuff." Al slumped in a chair by the bed, wondering how long it would take to make the other man eat. His tendency to quick flash mood changes was getting on his nerves; one moment, cooperative, the next belligerent and churlish. Like before, and he sure as hell didn't want to go through that again! "Just eat it, Sam," he said, trying not to sound irritated. It didn't work.

"You're angry."

"I'm not."

"You are."

"Damn it, Sam! I'm not, just tired and worried about you. Have you taken a good look at yourself in the mirror lately?"

"As a matter of fact, no."

"And I wouldn't, not for a while. You look nearly as shitty as you did when you came home. Would you please just eat that thing and drink your milk like a good boy?"

The other man took a cautious peek between layers of bread, eyeing his friend as if he suspected poison.

With a sweep of his hand, Al disregarded the expression, shrugging. It was his turn to feel the shakes, he decided. One hell of a night, and, now, fighting with the kid to eat something. He knew he couldn't handle much more of this.

In mid-bite, Sam noticed the tremble pass over his friend, the way his shoulders slumped, that bright look to his expressive eyes. Draining the glass in front of him, he tried to think of what to say to calm the older man so he wouldn't worry. "I'm sorry," he whispered. Extending his right hand, he held it out in invitation and smiled as Al grasped it tightly. "I'll do whatever you want."

"And you won't argue."

I might, just a little." He took the half-finished plate on the bed table and motioned for the other man to take his place at his side. Sighing, he leaned back, holding the lean body close, trying to soothe away the shakes that rolled through him. With his fingertips, he gently stroked the lined forehead, planting a soft kiss on Al's cheek. "I wanted so badly to change things. Make it better, perfect it."

"Once you take a break, you'll be thinking clearer." Al released a shaking breath. "I don't want you to talk about this Leap stuff, not for a while, okay? It's over, and onward and upward, understood?" His tone was even and quiet, settled. "You're home, and you've no reason to leave again."

Closing his eyes, Sam brushed his lips over his lover's, feeling the other man's mouth move beneath his, the strong arms encircling his shoulders. His eyes grew heavy as Al reached and clicked off the lamp by the bed, moving back to hold him carefully in the dark. Settling down into the pillows, Sam rested his head on Al's chest, the sound of his heart beating lulling him into sleep.

With gentle fingers, Al stroked Sam's head, pleased that he was resting and secure. It might not be too far down the road that nights like this could become a rarity, publicity and the Pentagon taking their toll on time together. Once the debriefing was over, and the press conference held, privacy would become a precious commodity. The photo taken of Sam at the farm had blown over like a bad dream, not generating enough mad press coverage to ruin things, not yet. Now was the lull in the storm, Al thought. Now was the time to go.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 6

Sam's grudging left side made packing difficult, but he managed, insisting that he do his own work. Al took the stubbornness as a good sign, pleased in a way, that the other man was willing to take responsibility and not faze back to his invalid status.

They managed to leave discreetly, making it to the private airfield in Alamagordo that Sam had so recently arrived from. Worriedly, Al noted that his friend had reverted to his long silences, only giving the briefest of answers to specific questions.

Tony greeted them enthusiastically, and Al gave the plane a lookover, ignoring the pilot's protests. "It's in perfect shape now, Al," he complained, as the Navy man cruised around the belly of the small plane. "I had the maintenance guys give it a good check, even had it recertified."

"You've known me long enough to let me make that decision," Al said around his perpetual cigar. He glanced at Sam. Sitting on the top of his larger suitcase, he wasn't paying attention to the conversation, the hot desert wind blowing his hair one way, his eyes squinted up at the sky. Thinking deep thoughts, Al decided, or just covering for something else. Indifference. The plane seemed to check out, everything in place.

They boarded, Sam still silent, his expression tightening as he shrugged away from Al's gently assisting hands. The constant mood changes, worse than Tina when she'd been PMS'ing, Al decided. It was almost a relief to take his place in the co-pilot seat and leave Sam to his own resources. Slipping on a pair of dark aviator glasses, he was in his element, doing the check-outs like he did it every day, knowing full well he'd not been in the cockpit of a plane for years.

Noticing his old friend's pleasure at flying again, Tony gestured at his own seat, allowing Al to switch places with him. Taking the ear set, he slipped it over his head and grinned as his pilot took over smoothly. "Knew you couldn't resist," he said playfully, readying the aircraft to taxi.

"It's a damn good thing I renewed my pilot's license last year or you'd be shit out of luck." Hell, he'd really be enjoying this if his mind wasn't preoccupied with that man in the back. "Go check on Sam," Al said, knowing full well Tony's questions would go over better than his mother henning. "Make sure he's still on the plane."

"A reluctant traveler, I see," Tony commented. He'd noticed the physicist's reticence, a contrast from his enthusiasm of only a couple of weeks ago.

"Enforced vacation." Al commented dryly, not offering more. The tower was giving them confirmation for take off. and Al kept himself busy with the instruments and instructions, trying his best to avoid listening in on Sam's and Tony's conversation. If there was one; from his vantage point he couldn't hear a thing but the engines. Tony scooted into his seat, his expression unreadable.

"He said yes, no, and thank you, in that order." Tony returned the grin his pilot gave him. "What's up?"

"Nothing you need worry about. He's... a pistol, that one." Al returned his attentions to the instruments. They were on their way.

Once airborne, Al relaxed into the routine, glancing over at his co-pilot. Tony was yawning widely, not hiding his weariness. "If you want to crash..."

"Don't mind if I do," Tony said. "I didn't get much sleep in the last few days what with cargo shipments and all that free lance stuff. This'll be a real break for me, if you don't mind."

"Sleep. I can handle it."

"Just like back in the DMZ. Remember that one flight to Saigon and we picked up those two chicks for a nookie run? Gads, the guys back on the carrier treated us like the pope for a week."

Smiling at the memory, Al glanced downward for a moment, then remembered a promise he'd made to Sam some time ago. "You go lie down in back, but send Sam up here. Tell him it's an order."

"We're going a little off course, Al."

"I'm paying for the damn gas, okay?" Sighing, Al checked instrumentation, and banked the aircraft. "Just send him up here and take a nap. You can spell me later."

Sam appeared, frowning, a moment later. Al glanced back at the stormy face, then, back to the windows. "Sit. Take a look."

Sliding into the co-pilot's seat, Beckett glanced out the small window. His face lit up the moment he saw what Al had wanted him to view. The Project below them, solid, beautiful blue buildings against the mauve desert sand. Suddenly feeling like a small child again, sitting in the dusters plane circling the farm, seeing a new view of home. Pressing his face against the plexiglass he felt the warm desert sun through the clear plastic, smiling easily for the first time that day as Al dipped the wings of the plane gently before soaring away.

"I got clearance this morning, right before we left or those boys at White Sands would be shooting us down about now." He felt himself untense as the younger man visibly relaxed, the stony glare softening contentedly. "You okay?"

"Yeah." Sam placed a hand on Al's shoulder, squeezing gently. The sight of his dreams from the air was stunning, and something he'd needed.

"Go and sit," Al stated, his eyes twinkling at the obvious delight crossing the younger man's face. He reached down, switching the plane to autopilot and moving over to where Sam took his seat. "Kid, you're going to get another flying lesson."

"Another?"

"Sam." Al sighed. "You've flown a plane before, at least in Leaps."

"You count that X-2, and flying through the Bermuda Triangle..."

"That's flying, kid. You always loved learning stuff." He took Sam's hands in his, gently wrapping his fingers around the steering mechanism. "You're a little tense, Sam. What you should do is first, relax. Secondly, realize that we're on autopilot and I'm not a hologram. I can really fly this bird. Also, that if Tony finds out I'm letting you do this he'll have both our heads."

"The moment we dive into those mountains down there he'll know," Sam replied nervously, comforted somewhat by Al's warm, firm grip. It felt so strange to be sitting in this place with him really here.

"We aren't going to crash." Sighing, the older man tried hard to keep the disgust out of his voice. "Now, I'm going to switch off the autopilot and..."

"Al..."

Before one more complaint could leave Sam's lips, Al switched off the black box and, keeping his hands firmly over the other man's, easing him into a less tense mode. "You're in control here, Sam. Feel it; the plane, all the vibrations, the sound of the engine."

The hazel eyes were wide and breathlessly still. For an instant, Sam felt everything Al was describing, this time without fear. or sudden urgency, as he had in similar situations before. No, he was free falling, in perfect control. His left hand shook just a bit, steadied by Al's strong grip, but he was actually flying the plane, feeling like a part of the sky, the way Al must have felt, still felt when he was airborne. "This is great," he managed, the words as soft as a prayer, his gentle gaze touching Al's enthused one before returning to the sight in front of him.

Easily, Al trained his willing student, pointing out every bit of the panel, quickly assimilated by Sam's quick mind. With his hands he showed him the correct way to hold the wheel, how to maneuver, then, took his place as pilot, allowing Sam to lay back in the comfortable seat and relax in his exhultation. "You'll be a pilot, along with everything else, once I'm through with you."

"Through with me, eh?" Sam's eyebrows arched, unable to see Al's gaze with the dark glasses obscuring his view.

"Behave yourself, Sam." He checked altitude, making sure they were still on their flight plan. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm fine, damn it." Crossing his arms over his chest, Sam felt the old, unreasonable anger flood him again. "A little tired of listening to the same questions, over and over. When do we get there?"

"Just a few hours, unless we make a stop and drive up. What do you think? It's been a while since we've gone for a road trip. I bet you don't remember that one time to Vegas, that all-nighter..."

"I had to listen to you sing to the radio all night, then you disappeared the minute we hit the hotel. I could've killed you."

"You could've came along. Look down there, Sam." His easy segue adjusted the steely greenish eyes from him and out the window, the lofty peaks of the Rockies poking through the clouds. "That's something to write about."

The more Al thought about his suggestion of a road trip, the better it sounded. The earlier jubilation that had filled his companion's face was giving way to quiet depression. Without a word, Sam slipped out of the compartment and returned to the back of the plane.

"Take her." Al glanced over at Tony as he pulled his headset off. "How about a little unscheduled stop?"

"No problem. I need to be back at Alamagordo in a few hours."

After explaining his plan, and gaining Tony's acquiesce, Al went to check on Sam. The younger man was slumped in a seat, his eyes not lifting from the window when he sat next to him. "I fixed it all up. We'll land in North Idaho, rent a 4 by 4 and go take a trip through the Canadian Rockies. A ten hour drive, but worth it. What do you say?"

A tiny shrug, still averting his gaze. "Okay," he whispered.

"Okay? Sam, what's going on in there? You're not still mad at me, are you?"

"No." He stated the word sharply, accompanied by a shake of his head. "Just... not all here, you know? Like I should be doing something."

"Easy enough. We'll be landing in an hour or so. Why don't you pull out your laptop and doodle for a while? I'm not keeping you from your work, just the Project. And only a little while at that."

"I'm having trouble with my fingers, and it just aggravates me working with a keyboard." A frown appeared between his eyes. "Why are we going by car when we can just land and have it over with?"

"You want to just get it over with, eh?" Al leaned forward, hands clasped between his knees. "Well, kiddo, that's not going to happen. There's a whole wide world out there you've been missing out on since you started Leaping. You haven't had a real vacation in seven years, counting before that. We're going to have a great time, and you'll wear down and enjoy it, believe me."

"Right now all I want is to go home. Home, Al. Can't we just turn back and stay at the house?"

"I explained that earlier, and it won't work. We have to be away, as far as

possible to give you a chance to reenergize those batteries. Trust me, Sam, it's for the best, for both of us."

Grudgingly, Sam eased back in the seat, arms crossed over his chest. They were right, all of them. In his heart he knew the moment they'd arrive home, if they did turn back now, he'd sneak away to the Project at the first moment he could. It was his drive, the preoccupation with the job, and maybe going far away was the answer to break the old rhythm.

They landed at a small airport just outside of Coeur d'Alene, Idaho, Al frankly glad to get Sam out of the plane and into the car they managed to rent at the Hertz outlet. Pretending to not hear Al's questions, Sam spent the first moments on the ground looking at the new landscape. They seemed to be in a low valley, surrounded on all sides by hills pretending to be mountains. Mist wreathed them, pine poking through the haze, a gentle rain pattering down around him. Heedless of getting slowly soaked, Sam leaned on his cane, inhaling deeply, wondering why he was growing dizzy from the very air around him. It was fresh, clean, crisp like an apple.

"Like it?" Al questioned anxiously.

Sighing, Sam rubbed his weary eyes, distracted from his reverie by Al's gentle words. "It's been a long time," he began.

"Not since that time you left to go skiing in '92. You and that guy you went to school with. Forget his name."

"Herky." Leaning on his cane, Sam turned to face the shorter man, his eyes small and squinted. "I'd like to do that again. We forgot my equipment, but I can make do, if that's what it takes."

"Uh, I suppose so." Al tensed briefly, picturing Sam in his current state going down, uncontrolled, skiing down the slopes. "We'll see once we get to Calgary. Lots of places up there."

"Don't worry about me so damned much," Sam replied, just a touch of hardness creeping into his voice. "If I want to ski, you won't be able to stop me. Besides," he added, with a touch of amusement. "Some people have been known to ski with one leg, not just a temporary condition."

"Well, give it a week, kid. Please." Al brushed a hand through his hair, quickly becoming rumpled by the cold breeze blowing from the west. "I sent Tony on his way home. He'll be back in two weeks."

"Only two weeks?" Sam seemed surprised. "I thought..."

"You weren't listening again. How the hell long do you think we can spare from the Project anyway?" His tone was a tease, accompanied by a light smile. It grew larger as he was rewarded by a similar expression from Sam, the greenish eyes twinkling. "C'mon, Sam. They can't run things without us, okay? I have a bet that half the place is taking a break along with us, and justly deserved. Those support guys have been on call for three and a half years now, not one day off, and no vacations. You didn't actually think you were the only one getting a vacation, did you? Gooshie is sleeping in for a week, and Verbena is visiting her brother in L.A. It took some quick talking to get Uncle Sam to lay off for a while, but we all managed." He rocked back on his heels, pleased at the sight of Sam's tense shoulders relaxing. The words had been magic. Al had thought if he'd told Sam the other techs were taking time off that he'd think the Project was being shut down. It seemed honesty was the best policy at this point.

Weariness washed over Sam, staggering over to the truck the rental people delivered. It was black, four wheel drive, and complete with all the extras. Suddenly, it felt fine to let Al take over, easing him back into the seat, fastening the safety belt around him, even brushing a stray bit of hair from his forehead.

Getting in the driver's seat, Al turned the engine over, glancing over at his sleepy passenger. "You hungry?"

"Starved. Tired. Annoyed." Sam grinned faintly. "Take a pick."

"I can't take care of the annoyed, not yet. Guy at the airport says there's a place up the road that makes great stuff; cheap and good. You need something to eat before we settle somewhere. Look, we'll get a room for the night, maybe two. It's a nice place. Then, the next day we can drive to Canada, and up to the cabin. Give you a chance to breathe, relax, and enjoy the sights. What do you think?"

"Sounds fine, I guess."

"Oh, you guess." A tinge of fury was building in the older man, just barely kept in check. Sam's impassive face and 'don't care' attitude was wearing thin. "I wish you'd snap out of this, this lethargy. I'm not taking you to a hanging, or your own funeral. We're on vacation. It doesn't take a blind man to see that you're prepared to not only be miserable, but to not let the time off do what it's supposed to do. Now, I'm not asking you to start throwing confetti, but just to enjoy. You can damn well bet that in a few months we won't have time like this together. You'll be off on speaking engagements, D.C., and I'll, well, be covering for you at home."

"You'll get a few of those offers yourself, don't forget," Sam easily reiterated.

"Yeah, well..."

"Yeah, well nothing." Sam grimaced, pulling his left arm across his chest. A perpetual ache was building in it, the medication Swann prescribed having it's side effects as well as healing properties. As the electrical connections reacted, pain reverberated down the arm, right to the fingertips. It was annoying, only adding to his frustration. "I have a feeling, Al. You'll probably be more in demand with the public than I will, no kidding. Damn, this smarts!"

"Take a pill."

"I'm sick of them. All of it." Slamming back into the seat, Sam turned his attention to the passing landscape. "I just want this over so I can get on with my life and not worry about it. I've got so much to do."

"We'll grab something to eat and check into a hotel."

"In this burg?"

"This isn't a burg, Sam. It's a fairly large town. They've got this place that's world class, but I don't think it's advisable to stay there with all the damned publicity. We'll find another joint and settle in."

Silence greeted his words. Sam had settled into the seat, stuck in stubborn mode; uncomfortable, and knowing he was being a real pain. Al was bending over backwards to please him, and he just wasn't in the mood.

Al decided to veto Tony's suggestion about the restaurant and drove straight through to the center of town. Sherman Avenue was comfortably rustic, small shops and arcades. It wasn't quite tourist season, so there would be less people to deal with. He parked the truck in a public parking lot and he and Sam debarked, wrestling with luggage the one block to the small hotel Tony had suggested.

The manager seemed very friendly, and gave them a room overlooking the lake, or what you could see of it through the buildings across the street. It was composed of a large front room, a tiny bath with a huge tub, and two bedrooms. They were informed that it used to be an apartment building that had been vacated because of a fire some years back and the current owner had it restored to it's former glory. Sam flopped on the couch before the bellhop left the room, his cane falling on the Oriental carpet.

As soon as the door closed behind the stranger, Al knelt by the pensive man on the couch. "You want me to go out for something? There's a Chinese place just up the street."

"As long as I don't have to get up." Sam closed his eyes, flinging one hand over his face. Every bone in his body ached from the brief exertion. He felt feverish and put upon, knowing full well it wasn't Al's fault. He gave his lover a tiny smile, pleased when he saw the worried expression lifting. "I'm just so tired. Sorry to be a party pooper."

"Maybe that's why you've been such a grump today. I'll get some food and that'll perk you up. If you're up to it, after a nap, maybe we can go wandering around."

Sighing, Sam snuggled down into the couch, accepting the quiet kiss Al gave him before he left. He heard the lock click behind him and felt secure enough after that to fall into a deep sleep.

When Al returned, he smiled at the form curled into a tight ball on the couch. Snoring softly, Sam's face was relaxed, his hair falling every which way. He set the food in the kitchenette and returned to his friend's side, gently waking him with a gentle touch on his arm.

The greenish eyes blinked once, opening to gaze sleepily at Al. "I suppose you want me to wake up now."

"Not necessarily. No." Al petted Sam's hair back as his eyes closed, trying to be as indulgent and easy as possible. "If you need a nap, take it now. There's a microwave in the kitchenette and I can warm your dinner up when you wake." For many minutes he sat there, fingering the length of chestnut hair until Sam was asleep again. He was still worried about his friend's condition, but knew that this too will pass. Sighing, he got up and went to the bath, running himself a hot bath to soak in until Sam should need him.


	10. Chapter 10

PART TEN

Without realizing it, Al kept his foot light on the gas, his eyes wide open and cautious.

"I'm not pregnant, Al," Sam grinned, every ounce of him glowing with joy. "Well, at least not now."

"What are you talking about?" the other man asked sharply, his eyes on the road.

"You're driving like my grandma used to. A regular hazard on the road." Sam lowered the window. He let the hot desert breeze hit him full in the face.

"Y'know, Sam, I have the air conditioning on for a reason." One look at his friends' expression cut Al short. The wind was whipping back the brown hair, green eyes crinkled shut.

"Enjoying yourself, are you?"

"You don't know how much. It's like . . . being released from prison." He glanced over at his companion. "Is this what it was like for you?"

"I guess, in your way, you became a prisoner." Al shrugged, his eyes full of dark compassion. "Just remember, Sam. You were always free up there the whole time, too."

Sam accepted his friend's words, a small shiver passing through him as he remembered Vietnam and the look on Al's face in the bar his last moments there. In the P.O.W. camp, Al had no control over his circumstances, and no one there, that he knew of, who cared. At least, Sam thought, in the prison he'd imposed courtesy of his Accelerator he'd had Al with him, and someone who knew him before he'd put himself into the cage of time.

Al kept one eye on the road and the other on his precious cargo. In the heat of the day, the interior of the car was like a furnace because of the open window, but Sam was shivering, his eyes riveted on the passing scenery. Al recognized the look almost immediately; the same expression when Sam Swiss-cheesed something on a Leap.

"You're remembering the house, kid. Hell, I had trouble even thinking about what it looked like for a while there. You okay?"

"Fine, Al. I ..." He pressed his right hand to his eyes, trying to clarify the image that was behind them. "We built it, didn't we? It's just off the base...God, Al! I was scared because I couldn't remember it, but now..."

"Oh, we didn't spend much time there, but it's home, kid. Nothing's changed, same old dump." He touched the control that opened the garage doors as they entered the driveway.

Al switched the engine off, smiling at the funny look Sam was giving him. "What?"

"Just that you opened the doors, and we're not parking in there."

"Uh, well, there's no room. Okay, that's it. We're home!"

He got out of the drivers side and assisted Sam with his canes as he made his way out of the car. So cautious, Al noted, each step a trial. Sam's eyes were taking in every bit of area; the tiny yard, the house that needed paint, but was still gracious-looking, and the open garage.

"What the hell..." Moving as quickly as the canes would allow him, Sam frowned, peering into the garage. "What...I don't remember..."

"Ah, well, the pool table. We'll discuss that later."

Hobbling over, Sam took a good look at the unfamiliar object. "When did you get it?"

"Take a look at your Jeep, here. Got all the plugs cleaned, oil changed, even..."

"You got it after I was Magic Walters..." His eyes narrowed. "Why?"

"I guess that leap brought back memories." Al walked over to stand by Sam's side. "I thought, maybe, once you were home, I could teach you the finer points, for real. You had a pretty good eye, kid, once I pointed you in the right direction.

"One of the few things I did right." Sam's expression darkened, turning away from the table to go toward the door.

"Now what is that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing, Al." Sam braced himself on the canes, adjusting his position. "Let's go inside. I'm tired."

God, Al thought, unlocking the door. If I had known the table would produce that kind of reaction I would have gotten rid of it long ago. "I bought a bunch of groceries," Al said, in an attempt to lighten the mood. "Stuff you asked for, and those things I know you wanted." He opened the door wide so Sam could enter easily. His face had lightened as he noticed the interior of the house. "Microwave popcorn, Diet Coke - no caffeine." Al kept up the steady patter as he entered the kitchen. "Frozen pizza, kiwi fruit, bananas..."

"Ugh." The sound of disgust was audible from Sam in the living room.

"Oh yeah, the chimp thing." Al walked to where Sam was. "Well I didn't get you any caterpillars...Von's doesn't stock 'em." Placing his arm across Sam's shoulder he met the other man's grave expression. "Welcome home!"

It even smelled the same, Sam thought. All those long nights, lying awake in someone else's body, thinking, sometimes remembering every nuance of what 'home' was, just to keep himself sane. A mixture of cigar smoke and Murphy's Oil Soap. He took in the sight of the living room. That ancient couch that was so out of place here, but comfortable after a long day at the Project. Spending the night on it, or until Al could make him go to bed. He'd have his headphones on, listening to CD's until he was deeply asleep and perfectly happy. Wrapped in Mom's afghan, still in place over the back of the couch.

Watching from the sidelines, Al enjoyed the sight of Sam touching the books on the shelves, his old records, and even the fireplace, greeting them like old friends.

"Is everything here?"

"No, I didn't trash your comic book collection. Sam?"

He ran across the room just in time to keep his friend from sliding to the floor. Grasping Sam's arm, he maneuvered the shaking man over to the small recliner and sat him down, watching the pale face. Eyes clenched tight, Sam was trembling again. "Talk to me, Sam. Are you okay?"

"Fine." The shakes were back, and the dizziness. "It's just so much. All here...and real."

"Is it just that? You're not in pain...?"

"I'm fine, really." Sam tried to laugh off the concern in his friends voice. "It's being home, and maybe getting out of the Waiting Room..."

Al caught a glimpse of pain that crossed Sam's face. "That's it, Sam. I'm calling Greg..."

Sam tried to get up from the chair and, with a sigh of disgust he fell back. Dizziness, double vision, headache, the works. Why now? "Al...?"

"Sorry, Sam. Doctor's orders. Greg said that if anything unusual happened I was to call him on the double." The phone was in the Admiral's hand and he was punching in the number. "I'm not taking any chances, so sit back and wait and see, okay?"

The doctor didn't seem alarmed and suggested that Al give Sam his prescribed meds and put the younger man to bed. He should settle in slowly, and take it easy the next day.

Sam realized it was great to be in his warm waterbed, with his television tuned to an old movie and the promised microwave popcorn. All he needed was Al's presence, but the man was keeping himself busy, rushing from bedroom to kitchen, kitchen to bath, and back again, his mouth going a mile a minute.

"Al!" Sam's shout brought the other man running, practically out of breath.

"God, Sam, what is it? Headache again? I'll get..."

"No. I want you. Here." Sam gestured at his side, the part of the bed that was empty. "Watch the movie with me? Citizen Kane. You told me it was one of your favorites. Isn't it?"

"Well, I'm more partial to The Third Man. This one's kind of weird, Sam."

"Orson Welles was a genius, too. He lost everything because of it."

"Now what's that supposed to mean?" Al flopped down on the bed next to Sam. "Are you going to start that old song again? You aren't losing everything, Sam. The Project is safe, and you'll be back on your feet before you know it!"

Sam fingered the sweatshirt Al wore with affection. "I remember this, too. You used to call this your slob clothes."

"Well you know I'm the snappiest dresser west of St. Louis and any other place I could mention. The ladies love me; gotta keep up appearances."

"I think I like you better dressed like this. It's real. You have to stop worrying about me, and running around like a nut. Everything is fine. If I need something I can get it, or ask for help. I'm not turning you away, Al. All I want from you, well, mostly, is just to be close. I want you near me, relaxed and enjoying home as much as I am. Can you do that?"

"I can try, Sam," Al said, sighing. "God, I worry about you. I've spent weeks just scared to death something might happen. You'd relapse, or, well, any number of things."

Sam laid his head on his friend's shoulder, not being able to pull him close with his left arm. He was rewarded by Al's arm around his waist, just a gentle tug, then release.

"You're pretty skinny, Sam. I'll have to take care of that, among other things. Maybe some Chinese food you like, or Italian. Put some meat on your bones."

"Are you okay, Al?" The big question he'd wanted to ask for days. Something Verbena had said prompted it, something about Al's condition.

"I'll live forever, kid. Don't worry. Got a little stomach trouble, nothing serious. I'm taking that junk that coats your stomach - how can a little pill do that? Feels better, though."

"When I'm back on my feet, I'll give you a check-up." It was a promise, Sam thought. I'm Al's doctor and he needs me.

A wide yawn was his answer. "You guys are all the same. Swann on one side, you the other. What a pain." God, he was tired. If he closed his eyes for a moment, he'd be out, on Sam's waterbed. Well, at least his back wouldn't feel like it had that night he'd crashed with him in the Waiting Room.

Sam used the remote and lowered the volume of the TV. Somehow it was more entertaining to watch his friend's face as he slept. There had been a lot going on, mostly concerning his return. Al had been the focal point everyone had centered on, the man who held the Project and its people together while he'd been in Time. Since his return it hadn't escaped his notice that Al was being hit by the press on one side, and the powers-that-be on the other. Not once in the last month had Al asked him to make a press statement, as much as the "Nozzles" had tried to con him into it. He'd guessed at a lot of the things Al had done to make his life private and easy right now, and heard some when he could manage to wedge information from Verbena.

He wanted so much to trace the worn lines on Al's face and take away the pain he saw there. More and more, his mind drifted to more than just friendship love between them. In a way, it frightened him, knowing Al would never go for it. His friend was not a prude, far from it, but he and Al... Sam swallowed hard. He remembered when he was Samantha, and what Al had been scared of then - loving him past the point of friendship. Even as a woman, the aversion had been there.

Another point; when he'd been in the military academy. Tommy. Al's words, his anger at what he considered deviant behavior. His ignorant remarks had faded at the end of that Leap. You were right, Sam, and I... I was wrong. Something had changed him. I changed him, my being Tommy without caring made him realize it might be okay.

Still, he wondered what kissing him would be like. Touching his mouth with his, being that close. Was it the touch he longed for or just being that close to Al?

I love Al. I want him in a way I can probably never have. Nell, in my current physical state... He lay back against the pillows, his right arm crossed over his face. I've changed so much. More than anyone really knows. Even Al. Before I leaped, I was so sure of who I was, what I wanted out of life. Now, I realize sometimes I was cold, concentrating on the Project and sometimes not really paying attention to what was going around me. God, I really missed the things I ignored. That night Al tried to make me go home and he was like a dim echo behind me, my mind so into what I was doing with Ziggy. After a while he realized I was blocking him out and he went away. When I think about that now, I know I hurt him badly. Did he know, did E know, I wasn't going to be here long?

Al knew. He practically did everything but beg for me to spend time with him. I took him for granted, thinking he'd always be there, and then, I did it. I Leaped.

Al moved in his sleep, shifting, a small frown appearing between his eyes. Is he dreaming? Does he worry in his dreams? Am I worth it? He seems to think so.

The medication he'd taken earlier was achieving the desired effect. Maybe he could talk to Al about how he was feeling, later, when he was feeling better and not so dependent on his friend's presence. Maybe his longing for a closer relationship would change when his condition improved and he could think more clearly.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 7

The waitress set the plate down in front of Sam, his bleary gaze taking in the food Al had ordered for him. He could barely focus enough to read the menu, and his friend had helpfully ordered him breakfast. The sight of the plate and it's contents made his stomach lurch in protest. "What... is... this?

"Oh, it's great, Sam," Al said enthusiastically, digging into his own meal. Inwardly, he wanted to pay back Sam for his impromptu bar binge the night before. "Nice biscuits, and this great pork sausage gravy."

"You want me dead," Sam replied, slightly gagging at the sight of it. It was a plate of grease, large doughy objects swimming in the middle of it. "I've got a headache, Al. I can't eat this."

"You'll hurt that nice waitress's feelings, Sam." Leaning over the table, Al plucked up a forkful of sausage, tempting his friend with the bite, dripping from the utensil. "Look, it's just yummy."

Covering his mouth, Sam ran for the bathroom, Al's eyes widening in total innocence of any wrongdoing. He got the waitress's attention and had her remove Sam's breakfast before he returned, ordering him a tea and plain toast. It had been a sadistic payback for the kid's little play time, but enough was enough. He was certain, he thought, as he watched Sam's uneasy gait from the bathroom back to the table, that the younger man wouldn't forget the way he felt now for a long time.

"Toss your cookies?" Al asked helpfully.

If looks could kill... "The whole bakery... Admiral." Sam answered, his tone as sarcastic as he could manage. He was well aware of his friend's little ploy, and felt he deserved only so much abuse. Making him get up at the crack of dawn was one thing, but that awful breakfast had been the straw that broke the camel's back. He clenched his eyes closed over the memory. The strong scent of herbal tea, and the dry toast was enough to make him want to live again.

"Payback," Al said, sipping from the strong, wonderfully fragrant coffee.

"Not fair, but I deserved it." The green-eyed glare directed at the man across from him was full of promise; revenge. "You did that on purpose, of course."

"Yup, and you fell for it, just as I suspected you would. Maybe you'll listen to me for a change, and..."

"It wasn't funny, and I want you to drop it."

Startled at the tone in Sam's voice, Al looked up. dismayed. For a few minutes he'd forgotten that this particular personality wasn't the type that could take a joke. "I'll drop it, if you'll settle down. They had that kind of tea you like; so drink it. It'll settle your stomach."

"No help from you."

"So," Al stated, leaning back in his chair. "We can take off for Canada, or just cruise around town until we feel like taking off."

"I sort of have my heart set on leaving right away," Sam said cuttingly, not meaning a word of it. His left side was bothering him again, and his head felt like the ground at a BMX track. All he wanted was about another twelve hours sleep and that his stomach would stop twisting into hard knots.

"You really aren't feeling very well," Al said, pursing his lips. "I guess I'm stuck driving."

"At least you slept." Sam winced at the many times he'd jumped up from the bed, leaving deeply sleeping friend, so he could answer the call of nature. Swann's caution about not mixing alcohol and his meds was valid, and he wished he'd followed his directions. "Can we just get this over with?"

"Fine." Al slapped a twenty on the bill, and stood up from the table, waiting for Sam to follow. "Everything's in the car. Let's go."

For hours they drove in silence. Sam immediately fell asleep, too tired to

argue any longer. Rain had begun to pour and the temperature had dropped to a chilly level. Al switched on the heater, sighing as the warm air poured from the vents. The kid was scrunched up against the passenger side door, coat tugged around him, and really out. It really seemed like he was perturbed by the breakfast annoyance more than he should be, but the older man decided to let it pass. He frowned as a tremble passed over Sam, probably cold from leaning against the icy window.

With one smooth move, he pulled over onto the shoulder and tugged gently on Sam, maneuvering him against his shoulder. If not more comfortable, at least it was warmer. Al turned the car back onto the nearly empty road, not worried about what anyone would think. His smile widened as Sam snuggled in, as he usually did, pressing his cheek onto his shoulder and making a soft sound as he settled in. This was worse, Al thought, than Tina's time of the month. At the very least, Swann had said, in a few days, with the meds toned down somewhat, Sam should be at his own sweet self again, or at least more cooperative than the demon he was now.

They stopped near the Canadian border for lunch, Sam being less of a grouch after his nap. He blinked his eyes twice as Al parked the car, clearing the sleep from his eyes and trying to figure out where he was. "I'm starved."

"I figured that, and so..." Al leaned back in the seat, stretching his shoulder where Sam had lain against it. "Nice little place, looks clean. Another six hours or so, and we'll be at the cabin."

The restaurant was your average diner, complete with hungry truckers feeding themselves at the trough, looking up long enough to survey the set of new faces and back to shoveling their meals in.

The waitress handed them their menus, and Al noticed his partner give him the evil eye. "I'm not letting you order for me this time." He gave the woman a smile that would melt hearts. "Double cheeseburger, extra onions, fries, and a Coke."

"How 'bout you 'sunny boy'?" she asked, turning her sarcastic gaze to Al's none too happy face.

"I'll have a salad, no dressing." He pointedly ignored the smirk from his tablemate. "And a BLT. Extra B. And a coffee."

"You got it." She swept back to the counter to send their order to the kitchen.

The dark cloud was passing over Sam's expression again, and Al fidgeted nervously as he noted the signs of another mood swing. Compounded with the alcohol he'd ingested and it's reaction with his meds, he was readying for another thunder storm. The waitress brought their drinks, and Sam sipped at his, eyes out the window. An uneasy silence settled over their table, and Al felt like either screaming or storming out.

"Excuse me?"

Both men's heads turned simultaneously at the stranger that had approached their table. He was big, built like a linebacker, and several men that matched his description were behind him. It looked like trouble. From the look on Sam's face, Al knew he'd better be the spokesman. "Can I help you?" he asked, as pleasantly as he could.

"You're that guy on CNN."

"Oh boy," Sam groaned, not quietly.

"I'm right, ain't I?" The guy leaned down, almost nose to nose with the physicist. "They said you were traveling in time."

"That's what they say," Sam said, gritting his teeth.

Before the situation got out of control, Al decided to put in his two cents. "Look, fellas, we're on vacation. He didn't travel in time; that's just bullshit for the tabloids."

Big and burly straightened, frowning darkly. "Are you saying they lied?" He glanced at his companions and grinned. "Now, TV doesn't lie. I watch the news, and I know."

"If you can possibly understand it," Sam muttered, clear as a bell, making Al blanch. "And I really doubt that," he added, putting a nail in the coffin.

"Sam..."

Huge fists reached out and jerked Sam from the booth, and, before Al could interfere, lifted the grinning physicist so that his high tops barely brushed the floor he was being held above. "You think you're pretty smart, doncha funny boy?"

With one quick movement, Sam broke the man's grasp and landed, swinging around to deliver a kick guaranteed to send the huge man into the next century. He hadn't bargained on his sluggish left side, or the way his body betrayed his once perfect coordination. Landing hard, he braced himself with his hands against the linoleum, wincing against the jeers and hoots of the men around him.

Ducking, he barely avoided one furious Admiral Calavicci, tearing at the men like a pitbull protecting his pup. Sam gripped the edge of the table, pulling himself to his feet and swung on the first man who approached him with his good right arm, sending him flying. There, he thought, dusting off his hands, that's the way it works! Al was all fists and arms, fighting as dirty as the street fighter Sam knew he was. Distracted, he didn't notice the man grabbing him from behind but he managed to toss him over his head and send him crashing into the counter, sliding the length of it. Other diners seemed used to the chaos, lifting glasses and cups from the path of the sudden bodily invasion on their eating space.

Wiping blood from his nose, Al felt triumphant and stronger than he had in years. Nothing made him revitalize faster than a good knock down drag out. He slid behind the booth as the other men pulled themselves up from different places on the floor and left the diner, barely glancing behind them as they exited. A grin was plastered over the kid's face, warming him even further. If that's what it took to make him happy he'd get involved in a brawl every day.

The waitress approached them, placing their meals on the table, and smiling. "Don't worry, boys. They won't be back-they always try to stir a little something up when there's a celebrity in town." She pulled the pen from her ear and shoved a napkin in front of Sam. "The cook wants your autograph."

Sighing, Sam signed obediently, a slow blush spreading over his cheeks. When the waitress left the table, he leaned over his plate, glaring at Al. "Is this going to happen every time we stop somewhere?" he hissed.

"Just eat and let's get the hell out of here before we have to deal with more than a few of your 'fans'." Frowning, he scowled at the cut above Sam's eye. "You okay? They didn't knock something loose or anything, did they?"

"No, I'm perfectly fine." Shaking his head, Sam shoved the plate away. The hamburger looked terrific, but he'd lost his appetite. Nothing upset him more, it seemed, than being recognized, and having that small part of his privacy violated. "Looked like you held your own."

"Well, I told you once I was golden gloves, but..." Al shrugged, then dropped his fork on the table as he noticed who entered the diner. "Heads up, kid."

The law enforcement officer looked as if he'd stepped off the page of a gun magazine, every crease in his uniform perfect, light glinting off his highly polished badge. "I hear you two had a little trouble."

"Just a little," Al said quickly, glancing at Sam who looked as if he was about to bolt. "Is our car in one piece?"

"Oh, the boys are long gone. No doubt headed into town to brag how they beat the shit out of you two." He grinned, perfect teeth gleaming under his dark mustache. "I just wanted to make sure you were on the up and up. I recognize you and Dr. Beckett, Admiral. You two are heroes, you know, all that time travel stuff. Can't believe most of it, but it's frankly the biggest thing to hit this country in a long time. Where are you headed?"

"Canada," Sam said quickly, cutting Al off. "And as soon as possible."

The officer nodded agreeably. "Well take care, and have a good trip. Mighty impressed meeting you both, and have a good vacation."

As soon as he was out of earshot, Sam hit his good fist against the tabletop, making the utensils jump. "That's it! I want out, now!"

"Sam," Al replied calmly. "Don't go into that prima donna routine. You did a great thing, and people are going to want to pat you on the back from time to time. Or, beat the hell out of you. You're probably just a nine day wonder, and after a while they'll forget it. Eat your damned lunch and we'll be on our way, okay?"

"Prima donna?" Outraged, Sam leaned on his elbows, eyeing his friend with growing fury. "Just because I hate the hell out of having our time disturbed..."

"You didn't act all that disturbed with the little barmaid last night, Sam." Al's cool words had the desired effect. The younger man eased, looking embarrassed and not at all pleased with himself. "Now, either you eat that great looking burger, or I'll stuff it down your throat the hard way. The food's great, and you'll have to put up with a few gawkers. No big deal, pal."

Managing to eat most of his lunch, Sam was relieved when Al paid the bill and they were back on the road. He felt refreshed after his meal, and insisted on driving for a while, and the older man acquiesced, pleased in a small way that his friend actually wanted to get behind the wheel. The kid could easily control the car, and gripped the wheel as if his life depended on it. At the moment, Al was less concerned about Sam's driving ability and more worried about what the men had said at the diner. Was the media actually saying he traveled in time now? What the hell was going on?

Noticing his friend's agitation, and feeling just a bit less annoyed at life in general, Sam glanced over at his passenger. "Okay," he asked softly. "What's up?"

"It's those news nozzles, Sam." He sighed, passing one hand through his hair as he spoke. "I don't know what's going on, and I won't be very happy until we hit the cabin and hook into the satellite."

"Do you think that our friends at the Pentagon let something leak?"

"Could be, could be." The full lips pinched together in a worried straight line. "You know how those guys are about keeping promises."

They switched drivers in a city called Cranbrook. Gas was essential, and he pumped while Sam slumped in the car, a moody, introspective expression on his face. Since their small discussion about what could be out on the news, the younger man had kept silent, only asking to switch off, and little else.

As Al pumped the gas in, he noticed a few people rubbernecking the car, pointing. His nervousness grew as several approached them. He was grateful that Sam was observant enough to notice the gawkers, and lock his door quickly. As he paid for the petrol, Al smiled shakily at the 'don't I know you' from the attendant, shrugged, and hustled back to the car.

A group had gathered nearby, mostly what looked like tourists, and Al slid into the driver's side quickly and started the engine. "We're out of here, kid."

"They know me. All of them." Sam shuddered, glancing back at the strange faces. They looked like so many cattle, staring because there was nothing better to do.

"Take a look at this, kid." Grimly, Al handed Sam the newspaper he'd picked up at the station. "Read it, and weep. I'm going to have a field day, once we reach a phone."

Dismay filled his gut as Sam read the front page of the Spokane paper. Bold headlines glared "PHYSICIST TRAVELS IN TIME". Beneath the print was the story, and he grew sick as he glanced over every detail. Photos of both he and Al, and a story that was sure to deny them any privacy for the next century. He sighed in relief over some of it, noticing there was no mention of his leaping into people, but just the fact that the media had finally managed to discover his true motives made him sick.

"You're looking kind of green, Sam." Concerned, Al reached over and tugged the paper from his friends hand, letting it fall to the floor of the car. "There's not a damned thing we can do about it now but hightail it to the cabin and stay put until we can figure out a way to get home. I might call for security..."

"No way." Sam fell back against the seat, trying desperately to think. "I

want it to be just the two of us. Just you and me, Al. " He could still feel those eyes crawling all over him. He wasn't a movie star, just a man who worked with computers, and now, it seemed, he had to go through the same annoyance. "How the hell could this happen?"

"It's an election year, kiddo. Anything is possible, when Ronnenburg is

concerned." Old anger stirred in Al, with every fiber of his being wanting to truly strangle the pompous old ass for good and all. "Just stick close, kiddo. There's no reason for us to stop anywhere from here on out. The cabin is fully stocked, all the stuff for meals we'll need. Nobody for miles, except my caretaker friends and they'll shoot before they ask questions."

"Small comfort. I can see that now - quantum physicist kills family from Dubuque."

A snort of laughter emitted from Al for a moment, glancing warmly over at the kid's dismayed expression. "That's more like it, Sam. You rest now, and we'll be there before you know it." He smiled, pleased that Sam leaned over and pillowed his head on his thigh, wrapping his hands around his leg snugly before falling asleep. They'd be a sight if someone saw them, but Al was beyond caring. He had more worries on his mind. With Sam's celebrity status there were other considerations now into play that frightened the hell out of him. Earlier on, there had been kidnapping threats, from various groups. Something that made the Admiral's blood run cold was one in particular from a Mid-East sect, and with the unstable condition of their relations with that particular area, god only knew what they'd do if they got Sam. I'm glad I brought my gun, and declared it at the border, he thought, reaching down to settle his hand on Sam's warm hair. Back at the Project, they had the security of White Sands, with three checkpoints between them and the compound, and others stationed in the Project itself. A virtual fortress. Here, it was up to him to keep the kid safe, and the loonies at bay.

Nature called, and Al stopped the car at a remote little grocery store, feeling hungry and not caring for the moment if they were recognized. Sam seemed to be mellowing out, and used the bathroom and hurried back to the car while Al bought some snacks and soda. He had to smile at the red cream soda; hadn't seen that in years and was sure Sam would love the junk. Canadian cookies, those pickle chips that he was sure would go straight to the kid's heart. He dumped his purchases on the counter and was pleased to note that the clerk not only didn't react at his face, but seemed pleasant and personable.

As she packaged up the items, she also added a packet of something pink. "Complimentary, for all tourists. It's that time of year." She grinned at the strange look on Al's face. "Rose petals; you can use them to freshen up your hotel room, or just enjoy. We're really proud of our roses around here. The kids gather up the ones that fall and we package them up every day for people that come in. Helps people remember us on their way home."

"Thank you," Al said sincerely, returning her pleasant smile. "We'll be sure to do that, if we come back this way." He gave her a wave as he ducked out. Before he got in the car, he stuffed the packet of petals in his case and shut the truck solidly.

"What was that?" Sam asked, trying to recover from the sudden sound of the trunk slamming.

"Just something I forgot - personal." Al grinned, placing the bag of purchases on the floor in front of his passenger. "Goodies. You can afford to pack on some pounds."


	12. Chapter 12

They arrived at the cabin near nightfall, rain pouring down cold and wet. Al managed to prod Sam awake and in the general direction of the cabin as he blithely unpacked the car. Exhausted and grumpy, his companion wasn't in any shape, he thought, to assist in the chore. "The door should be open," he called out, hoping the kid heard him.

The knob turned under Sam's hand easily, and he blinked at the light as he switched it on. A huge room was before him, two huge beams going the length of the place up to the immense loft above him. The paneled walls were knotted pine, stained a warm golden, and the furniture huge and comfortable looking. The place spelled home, and Sam liked it immediately.

As Al entered, arms wrapped around suitcases, he turned immediately, frowning. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Bringing in the luggage." Dropping his load on the hardwood floor, Al bristled slightly, not like either the tone, or Sam's imperious posture. "It's all here, and, if you like. I'll lay out your sleeping wear, oh mighty warrior."

"I could've helped you with that stuff - if you'd bothered to ask."

"I was trying my best to be considerate of your 'condition'. Hell, it's worse than when you were pregnant! At least I could take a powder and go back to the Project that time. Sometimes that stinking I.C. door came in handy!"

"So that's it!" Sam was working up to a good yell, striding across the room to confront his adversary. "Just another excuse to run. Let me tell you, I'm sick of it. I'm not a baby, Al, I'm a full grown man, with responsibilities, and a LIFE."

"A life? You call this a life? I'm not your fucking valet, Sam! I'm getting kinda sick of toting and carrying for you."

"I didn't ask for it!" Sam snapped back.

"Who was the one who went against what everyone told him to do and did it anyway? You were flat on your back and I'd be a cad to let you try to handle things on your own!" The intensity of his words made the tendons on Al's neck stick out. "I had to practically drag you up here, and this is the thanks I get."

"So who was pushing you? If I'm such a chain around your neck, why don't you just send me back?"

"Damn it, Sam, knock off the pity party and start taking on some responsibility and I'll treat you like one of the big boys. Until then..."

The older man's words were halted by Sam himself, big hands gripping his shoulders and flinging him to the floor like so much lint. He caught control for a moment, sending the two men rolling across the highly polished floor, tumbling scatter rugs and small tables every which way where flaying legs and arms contacted.

A moment, and Sam was pressed over his body, eyes dark and glaring. With one abrupt movement he grabbed Al's shoulders, one quick slam against the rug beneath his head, causing little pain, enough fury to blind him. Gritting his teeth, Al pulled the kid over, using every bit of strength he had, and gaining his supremacy, he stared down at the infuriated face. His free hand lifted for a moment, to strike and do mighty damage. He froze as Sam's hand lifted and clenched his wrist, both men gasping from their efforts as all motion ceased. Another moment, and the older man felt himself being lifted and flung over Sam's shoulder, carried like a feather, held none too firmly by the kid's good right arm. "Put me DOWN!" he screamed, kicking for all he was worth.

Mounting the steps to the loft, Sam found his adrenalin rush assisted him in keeping a grip on the frantically struggling Admiral he'd hefted. He smiled at the king sized bed that greeted him and dumped his cargo upon the patchwork quilt.

Al looked up in stunned amazement, his anger fading as quickly as it had erupted. Above him was Sam, breathing a little harder than usual, sweating, but with that special glint in his eye that showed passion behind the icy cold anger. The air clearing had it's desired effect, Al pleasingly noted, gripping the proffered hand and pulling his lover down to his level. Their lips touched, Al's hands coming up to caress the stubbled face, his mouth opening to greet Sam's possessive kiss.

They tore at each other, shirts and slacks falling to the floor with the abandon of desperation. Sam's hands pressed over the length of his companion's body, stoking the fires with every touch of flesh beneath his fingers. More than anything, Sam felt ready to feel Al within him, as close as he could get, a purchase he had yet to deserve. Inwardly, he knew what it would take for him to give that to Al, but he felt that the older man's devotion to him was trade enough.

"I want you," Sam said, his breath trailing off into Al's ear.

Al pressed his lover back on the bed, legs braced on either side of Sam's waist, his growing organ just brushing against his partner's. For a moment, he hesitated, but felt at peace when he saw the certainty on the kid's face, a settled, resolute expression that spoke volumes. He bent to kiss the still face, brushing against eyelids and lips, his hands strolling along the arms locked around his hips. It was faintly exciting to taste Sam's salt graced skin, still sweating from their exertions, his chest and stomach moving as he touched and explored every inch of muscled body.

Slowly, he moved lower, and smiled gently as he eased off the bed. "One minute, Sam," he said, kissing away the confused expression on the other man's face. "Can't do this without help."

Sam listened as Al went downstairs, smiling slightly at the sound of the door being locked and lights turning low. All in all, as fights went, this was one of their better ones. His grin widened as his lover appeared at the top of the stairs and beamed back at him.

The sight of Sam, legs spread wide, hair splayed across the pillow, tanned skin against the pulled back sheets, made him shiver. Al crawled back onto the bed, and continued where he'd left off. moving between the parted legs and kissing his way slowly up Sam's erect organ, gently licking at the tip and taking it into his warm, open mouth. Slowly, he stroked the base, his tongue and lips sucking and pulling the other man into orgasm. Hips lifting, Sam came, warm come easing down Al's throat as he swallowed and carefully cleaned him off with gentle sweeps of his tongue.

The older man's hands moved lower, cupping the tempting butt, spreading ass cheeks wide and applying the warmed lotion to the crack. With one finger, he prodded the opening, cautiously at first, then, feeling no resistance, pushing in purposefully, hearing the sigh from above that meant either pleasure or pain; he could not tell. "You okay, kid?" he asked softly, not wanting to cause anything but pleasure with his movements.

"I'm fine," the gentle voice returned. "Don't stop. I want all of you."

Sighing, Al nervously applied as much lotion to himself as he could and added a generous dab to the opening. He held it as wide as he could, bracing his cock tip against it. Sam tensed for a moment, and he soothed him, rubbing his hand against his skin, feeling the muscles relax under his fingers. In a moment, he slipped into the small opening, feeling the contours of Sam's anus clench against the sudden bulk, then relaxing as he slipped past the muscle and relaxed.

Sam felt the first press and stiffened, then untensed as he locked his legs around Al's hips, the pain becoming less as Al moved and adjusted in him. The feeling of his lover's hardness inside was so exquisite that it overwhelmed any other sensation. Al bent over him, hands gripping his upper arms and brushing his lips against Sam's for a moment, moving carefully in a pumping motion, every slide and dip touching his soul. Crying out for sheer joy, Sam returned the grip, his legs practically clenching around his partner as he felt the first hot streams of Al's semen shoot inside of him.

Slowly, Al withdrew, regretting that he had to, loving the feeling of Sam around him and holding him in such a way. His body fell over the younger man's, feeling the strong arms holding and comforting him.

"I have been an ass," Sam said softly, kissing against the hair that lay sweat damp against Al's scalp. "And I said a few things I regret, but not this."

"We should fight more often." Al grinned, his soft voice and dark, bright eyes belying his words. "I'm sure it hurt, Sam. Are you okay?"

"That's the strange thing," Sam caressed the face he loved so much, one long finger tracing the line from brow to lips and back again. "It didn't. You were careful, and gentle. All I felt was... you in me, and loving me. If that's what this is, then you can screw me every night of the week."

"That shouldn't be too much of a chore," Al chided, kissing the smiling mouth beneath his.

The sound of rain hitting the slanting roof had ceased, turning to a muffled soft murmur. Snow, Al thought, easing out of Sam's desperate sleeping grasp. Grey light poured in through the window over the bed; early morning. They'd slept the night, and his lover was quite unconscious, at least for the time being.

They'd managed a quick shower and to unpack their things before falling back into the bed. Sam had remade it with fresh sheets and it was comfortable beyond belief. Grabbing his robe, Al tugged the silk around his shoulders and quietly went downstairs to use the phone.

It was a cellular, and he'd had arranged to have their home number forwarded to the cabin. He made sure Sam was still very asleep before dialing the number, sinking into one of the fat old chairs that circled the great room.

Keeping his voice low, Al spoke the instructions into the receiver, calling in yet another favor, and using his commission to back it up. What Sam didn't know would keep him alive and safe, and with the recent news, he wasn't about to have this place unsecured. Satisfied at the results, he cradled the phone, sighing. He hated going behind the kid's back like this, but necessity was the mother of invention. It went beyond trust now, or promises. Sam's privacy, even his life was threatened.

Stirring, just on the edge of wakefulness, Sam reached for Al and found the smooth texture of linen sheets instead. The smell of coffee touched his senses, and toast. Smiling, he eased out of his comfortable position, stretching like a cat, feeling every satisfied muscle untense and smooth. His robe was lain over the chair near him and he slipped it on, tying it snugly over his slim hips. Snow was falling outside the window, and he smiled satisfactorily, pleased and delighted at the sight. It reminded him of another place, a cabin with Al, down in the New Mexico mountains. The memory did not have the sweet satisfaction of this one, but, regardless, the snow was an extra added attraction.

The floor was cold under his bare feet and he hurried downstairs to warmer climes. There was a fire in the hearth, and Al was puttering around the kitchen for the sheer joy of it. The man loved to cook for him, Sam knew, and he never wanted to deprive him of that pleasure. Another thing he knew he craved was that first kiss in the morning, and the younger man wrapped his arms around the smaller figure from behind, feeling the strong hands grip his wrists possessively, turning in his embrace to fulfill his wish. Their lips met and clung, Al's mouth tasting of toothpaste and stolen bits of bacon.

"Good morning," Sam murmured, breaking the embrace, his voice soft and gentle. "If s snowing."

"You noticed." Al turned back to the stove, flipping the bacon like an expert and dumping it on the paper toweled plate sitting nearby. "Just like I promised. You can go skiing, any number of things. We'll do it on a weekday, though, when the crowds aren't so big."

"I'll wear a disguise," Sam said quickly, not wanting to bring up that particular subject for a while. "Nobody will recognize me."

"Set the table, Sam." The dark eyes became grave. "We have to talk."

"I don't like the sound of that." Checking the cupboards, Sam came up with dishes and flatware, setting it out on the small table in the breakfast nook. His apprehension grew as he set the plates out, watching the strained expression on Al's face as he placed bacon and toast in the center and poured coffee.

"I watched the news," he said, sitting down across from Sam.

"And?"

"We're the number one story. I've still got to prove it was that rat that sent it out, but they've got us by the balls, Sam. We can't be reached for comment, or so they say. I'm keeping my eagle eye out, and you should, too. I called the neighbors and they said they'd watch for any strangers around our property, and call if they see something. Or," he added with a grin, liberally sugaring his coffee, "If we hear a shotgun blast, run for cover."

Regardless of apprehension, Sam found himself drawn to the small color set, tuning the satellite into CNN. Al watched with grudging consent, as the anchorman blithely spelled out the worst, words he'd heard earlier. The expression crossing the younger man's face didn't give him a clue to his companion's reaction. Only when the set was switched off, and Sam flopped back in the chair did he see the very slight line between the gold green eyes, and the tremble that passed over the lean body.

Straightening, Sam wandered over to the wonderful brick fireplace, arms wrapped around his torso, craving the warmth against the betrayal beating against his heart. People he and Al had been forced to trust all these years were stabbing them in the back. He shrugged out of Al's enfolding arms, needing the space for a moment, until he noticed the stricken look on the older man's face.

"I'm sorry," he said, in a small voice. Reaching out, he allowed Al to wrap him protectively in his arms, returning the desperate grasp, burying his face into the narrow shoulders. "What the hell are we going to do?" he breathed, wings of worry niggling at his every sense.

"You said we'd cross bridges, and this is one under construction, kid." There was a touch of humor in the rough voice, gently fingering the feathers of hair that brushed Sam's shoulders. "We're far away from all that stuff, and no use working yourself up into a lather over it till we go home."

"You've got a point there," Sam stated, somewhat calmed by the firm arms around him, and the words that stated simply the truth. He didn't release Al, drinking in the silence, warmth, and acceptance that emanated .from the strong body.

"We've got the whole day," Al said, smiling slightly as he felt the tense body relax. "The way the snow is coming down there's no way we're going anywhere soon. We need a few things, like milk and perishable stuff, but it can wait." His hands moved lower, knowing the perfect way to distract his lover, brushing the velour robe up and cupping the perfect buttocks that peeked out.

Sam pressed close, sighing softly at Al's firm, possessive grip. He smiled as Al slid down the length of him, hands wrapping around his thighs, parting his robe with a nudging nose and eagerly taking his hardening penis into his hungry mouth. Slowly, the younger man eased back onto the rug in front of the fireplace, dancing light from the hearth playing along the body bent between his hips, painting Al's lightly muscled form with orange and gold. Closing his eyes, Sam enjoyed the sensation of the warm mouth firmly sucking, gentle sweeps of tongue encasing every bit of his newly aroused organ.

Al played his hands over the brief mound of pubic hair, concentrating every bit of skilled mouth on the hard length, licking and kissing every solid inch of it, loving the feeling of the warm velvet skin that lay over the firmness. The graceful hands curved in his hair, almost pulling, just the faintest sound as Sam's back arched, pleasure in each vibration of tongue stroked flesh as he came. Al swallowed the nectar that filled his mouth, never tiring of the taste or sensation of that part that was his lover.

"I'm definitely distracted," Sam sighed, laying flat on the floor, feeling virtually no stress or worry. Every solid inch of his body was sated, relaxed beyond the point of movement. He smiled as Al moved lower, lifting his heavy limbs over the older man's shoulders, bending to lick and caress the tender area between his ass cheeks. Small hands pressed into Sam's buttocks, tongue just barely jabbing into his anus, lubricating and warming his skin. Gasping, Sam couldn't believe the sensation, even more acute than the night before; the warmth of the fire, Al's desperate mouth kissing and licking against his flesh, and his own arousal renewing. The tender fire built in his stomach, as his partner gently eased into him, pressure, but no pain, taking him easily, and sliding into his opening.

The muscles tightened around Al's organ, the pressure alone almost making him come. He braced himself on Sam's hips, feeling the graceful hands pet him from throat to stomach as he pumped, clenching his jaw against the cries that threatened to erupt from his throat. He caught one glimpse of his lover's face, expression at ease, the true pleasure shining from his beautiful eyes. Reaching his peak, he felt himself implode, shooting stream after stream into Sam.

The other man came almost simultaneously, more from the sheer sensation of Al inside of him than actual contact. As Al began to pull away, Sam gripped his hand, coaxing him to lay on top, gently showing him without words that he wanted him to stay in him as long as he could.

Pulling on one strong arm, Al eased Sam into his embrace, still barely within him, more than willing to cuddle and hold his lover close. Sighing softly, Sam fell easily into his lover's arms, pressing Al's hands over his stomach, closing his eyes over the tears that threatened at the complete tenderness of the gesture. The only sound was their breathing and the wind outside, blowing drifts of snow against the cabin. It was utterly peaceful, Sam thought, and perfect.

They took a long hot shower together, savoring every second of time, and made love again as the streams beat against their backs. The tub was not quite equipped for two men, but they managed. Sam took Al, gently easing between his buttocks, his lover leaned against the wall, holding him in a firm embrace as he pumped, kissing ears and throat, pleased at the cat like expression on the older man's face.

As they stepped from the shower, Al remembered something he'd obtained, and ran quickly upstairs, then back down. Sam was wrapped in a thick blue towel, brushing his teeth, when he returned. He watched him as he finished, smiling, barely able to keep from dragging the kid up the stairs to his surprise.

Intuitively, Sam knew something was up. Grinning, he took Al's hand and let him lead the way to the bedroom, obeying when softly asked to close his eyes as they entered. He felt himself pushed back onto the sheets, and the scent of roses overwhelming his senses for a moment.

Al nearly gasped at the sight before him. Rose petals graced every solid inch of the sheets under and around Sam's body, brushing against the tanned skin like pink bits of light. "All right, kiddo. Open your eyes."

Looking about him in confusion at first, Sam was hard pressed to wonder what was all over him, then smiled at the fragrance and silky touch of the flowers. "You old romantic," he breathed, pulling his lover down on top of him.

Mouths gasping for each other, they clung, rolling in the petals, sticking to hair and skin, hands gripping each other desperately, not tiring of the feeling of being close. Sam cupped the beautiful face, mouth down turned at the loving look he was receiving. He'd never been cared for this much, not ever, and it nearly broke him down to know how much this man loved him. With Al, it was a 'show' kind of love, rarely told with words, which made it even more precious.

"You look kinda weepy, Sam." Al's voice was broken, a soft whisper. "Thought I'd give you something new. It's pretty mushy, huh?"

"It's you. And I love you." Sam placed a gentle kiss on the full lips, hands stroking the craggy face for a moment before resting his head on Al's chest, pillowing there as if it were feathers. Sighing he felt every bit of contentment and pleasure, basking in the perfection of a day spent snowbound with his lover in a rose scented bed. The strong arms wrapped around him, carefully protective, and Sam eased into the embrace, moving his length to press against Al's smaller body. It felt good just to cuddle and hold each other in the gray lit room, hearing the snow whoosh against the window and to know they were together and safe.

Al reached down and pulled the blankets up over them, snuggling in, simply holding his treasure as close as he could, keeping the demons at bay. Now, he didn't want to think about what lie ahead, or the future. This time was theirs, and he savored every moment, kissing and brushing the soft chestnut hair beneath his mouth. He didn't want to make love, or talk, just hold, and feel that warmth around him. The thought of what he'd almost lost once frightened the hell out of him, down to the very bones, and here he was, holding that living life in his arms, feeling his breath puff against his chest. "I'm not going to lose you," he breathed, not really meaning to say the words out loud.

"Who said you would?" Sam frowned, glancing up and feeling himself being pulled and tugged back to his old position. "I'm not going anywhere, Al. I made a promise and..."

"Keep it, kid." Al sighed, stroking and kissing Sam's hair. "Keep that, and I'll take care of the rest. I'll never give you a moment's grief again, and I'll keep you safe. Think you can handle that?"

"Sort of...making up for lost time," Sam grinned impishly, trying to break his lover's introspective mood. "You protected me on those Leaps, Al. All the time, even when I wanted to die, or give up, you yelled me into living again. Jarred me back to reality. I know that, and I'm grateful."

"Just don't forget that, Sam." Al was serious, his mind on other thoughts outside of the Leaps; the current crisis that threatened to invade their world.

"Whatever happens, just know I'm doing it for both of us. I don't think I can live on this planet without you around anymore, and I'll do everything in my power to keep you here with me. I'm not smothering you, or making you keep your place. I just want our lives to be as normal as possible."

"The reporters, right?" Sighing, Sam wrapped his arms around the firm torso, rubbing against Al's chest hairs gently. "I can handle that. When we get home, we can avoid everybody for a while, like up here. Like before. One press conference or something and..."

"That'll be it," Al said, not too certainly. "It'll be just the two of us, and the Project, I guess." He brushed his hand against one smooth cheek for a moment, then wrapped his fingers around Sam's throat in a protective gesture. "We'll handle it, kid. All of it."


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 8

They spent the remainder of the day in bed, holding and caring for each other. The storm blew over and they woke the next morning to a land of pristine white drifts and the sound of heavy white stuff dropping off the tall pine trees that surrounded their cabin.

"I wondered," Al suggested, setting his empty cup on the table. "Just wondered if you wanted to go out and do a little running around. We need milk and eggs, stuff that won't keep and the caretakers didn't stock up on." He was relieved by the distracted shake of Sam's head, his eyes on the snow-filled windows. "You go ahead. I want to go for a hike, maybe check out the woods." He grimaced at Al' s tight expression. "It won't hurt to give me a little time alone; as much as I love you there's times where I want to just walk, explore, and see the lay of the land."

"March around to your heart's content, kid," Al said casually, belying his relief. He was delighted by the eager look on Sam's face, and pleased that he had his little excuse to go out intact without worrying his lover's head about it. Security had called, long before his partner had rolled out of bed, and as Admiral, he wanted to check out their status and make sure they were qualified to do their job. Certainly, his old buddy at White Sands wouldn't have sent him anything but the best, but he wanted to alleviate his own worries and make sure the cabin was as secure as being home.

They left the house together, and Al stared with dismay at the snow buried car. For all means and purposes, it looked like a small hill. The driveway had been plowed out, courtesy of the neighbors, but there was still the matter of clearing the vehicle. Al glanced from the shovel that leaned against the wall, to the smirk that covered Sam's face. "You gonna help me?" he asked, hands on hips.

Tapping his cane on the porch floor, Sam gave his friend a wide eyed innocent look, clearly indicating his 'helpless' situation. He grinned wider as his exasperated friend snatched the shovel and proceeded to dig the car out of the drifts. After a few moments, Sam realized it wasn't the best of jokes, that his friend wasn't in any shape to be hefting the weighty snow. He tossed the cane aside and took the shovel from a relieved looking Al. "Grab the broom in the kitchen, and I'll dig her out, while you get the windows and doors."

Pleased at his own thoughtfulness, Sam dug the snow from the tires, feeling invigorated by the cold, sparkling fresh, mountain air. The baffled expression he received from his partner made him want to laugh almost out loud.

Simply put, Al was not a lazy man, but could never understand why Sam got so excited about manual labor. Shaking his head, he cleared the windows, and in no time at all, the car was clear and free, both men warmed by their exertions, faces bright and red from the cold. Dumping the broom on the porch, Al grabbed keys from his pocket and headed for the car. Stiffening, he froze as a handful of well-aimed snow smacked him square in the face. Maintaining his dignity, he neatly wiped the white stuff from his eyes and nose, not in the least bit amused at his hee-hawing companion; practically doubled over with laughter.

"That was pretty cute, Sam." Wandering over, he shoved his dissolving friend into the drift in front of him, smiling tightly at the sight of the kid buried to his neck in snow, his giggles muffled by the stuff. In a lightning quick move, he felt himself being jerked down, forgetting how deceptive looks can be, and pulled the length of the porch on the soft powder. His fingers clawed helplessly, leaving tracks in the snow, long lengths of jagged tears in the white.

Twisting around, he managed to trip his not too sure-footed buddy, dissolving into laughter as the larger man dumped on the snow, falling flat on his face. Outraged, Sam looked up at his captor, spitting ice from his lips.

"You can dish it out," Al said, taunting. ".But you can't take the heat... or the cold, as it were."

"Very funny." There was no anger in his voice. Sam hadn't felt this great in ages, full of life and laughter, wanting no more than to play with Al like a little kid the rest of the day. Reaching out, he tried to snag a retreating ankle, but the older man shook his head, stepping just out of range.

"Sorry, kiddo. You have fun, and I'll be back in an hour." Grinning, he went to the car, glancing back just once as Sam got up from the ground, brushing the snow from his coat and jeans. This was promising to be yet another great day.

Once Al had left, Sam felt the silence of the woods press upon his ears like the loudest sound in the world. No birds; just the rush of wind, and snow rustling through the tops of the evergreens. He craved the smell of pine, and the darkness. Retrieving his cane, he used it to help him through the heavy snow, his left side still a bit off and needing assistance.

The cold stung his nose, and he relished the clear air, bright blue sky a sharp contrast to the muddy white/gray of the day before. The world around him sparkled like the points of tiny diamond light, prisms in each glint; tones of pink and blue on the pure banks of white.

Resting for a moment, he pressed his hand against the trunk of a large pine, pushing against the slim trunk and rewarded by the sound of it's heavy cargo settling, falling in muffled thumps around him. A bit of snow slid down his collar, quickly melting. Even that didn't seem to distract from his sunny disposition. It was too beautiful a day to be cooped indoors, and he hoped Al would want to go for a walk when he got home.

The clearing in front of him was tempting, begging to be sat in. Heedless of freezing his nether regions, he tossed his cane one way and flopped down on the soft white, flat on his back. His gaze took in the clouds drifting between the treetops above him, making it look as if the world was spinning, the pines the very center of the earth, itself.

"Dr. Beckett? Are you all right?"

Startled out of his reverie, Sam jolted to a sitting position staring up at the uniformed man standing in front of him. A shock of black hair stood above the pale face, startling blue eyes gazing at him with concern. "Who the hell are you?" the physicist snapped, annoyed at the intrusion.

"I'm sorry." The long face was truly apologetic. "It is something, isn't it?"

"I asked who the hell you were." With a sinking feeling, Sam recognized the winter uniform of the U.S. Navy, and suddenly saw the light.

"I'm a member of the security team Admiral Calavicci ordered for your protection." He stuck his hand out, assisting the annoyed man to his feet. "And I'm very sorry that I disturbed you. You seemed to fall, and your cane went one way..."

"Thank you, " Sam said stiffly, his sweet mood fading. He accepted the cane from the man, his face masking what he was really feeling. One Al Calavicci was a dead man.

"My name is Kyle MacGruder," the guard said, dogging Sam's footsteps as he headed back for the cabin. "I live in Seattle; naval reserve, and work security at the base..." He stopped at the edge of the woods, watching Sam not lose one bit of his stride. "If you need anything, please know I'm at your service, Dr. Beckett."

"I'll do that," Sam gritted, his anger growing with each step he took. Damn Al, damn him anyway. Speaking words about trust, and now this. He took a seat on the porch, hands clamped over the top of his cane, watching for the car that would bring the man back, trying to decide what he'd do to Al when he returned. Security. It set his teeth on edge, the thought that he and his lover would never be alone now, all those watchful eyes scoping out their every move. Bending his head over his fingers, he sighed, knowing full well if he blew up it would push Al right over the edge, and he couldn't stand the thought of him going off alone and not coming back.

MacGruder waved from the edge of the trees before retreating. At least he didn't seem intimidating. What was the point of security if they were that friendly? A crawly, anxious feeling crept over Sam, and he slipped into the cabin, avoiding the eyes that he knew were observing. The cabin's warmth had faded, the fire only a memory. Huddling on the couch, he decided to not build another one, preferring to curl into a ball in his coat then to do anything else right now. Betrayal was a bitter taste in his mouth, and the Admiral had a shitload of explanations to make when he returned home.

"Sam!" Al glanced toward the woods, noticing two sets of tracks in that direction; one going, one coming. The kid had to be in the cabin, he thought, hefting the bag of groceries from the car and shutting the door.

"Hey, hey, kiddo, got you some..." Frowning, he set the bag on the kitchen counter and strolled over to the great room where Sam sat in the direct middle of the couch, coat pulled over his chest, face drawn into battle lines. The sight made his gut twist. "What's up, Sam?" he asked, sitting across from his lover, patiently waiting for the explosion.

"You ordered security." The words were grated out, every syllable doted as if measured. "I want to know why, and how many."

It was pointless to ask how he'd found out, Al thought. The damage was done. "Sam..." he sighed. "We didn't have much of a choice, pal. People know we're here and..."

"It's not just the fucking security." For Sam to use that word it meant more than just a standard temper fit. His words were deceptively calm. "You promised me. I want them gone, now. All of them. How many?"

"Thirty." Glancing at the floor, Al found it difficult to look into the green-gold eyes. Truth had to be told, and now, before more misunderstandings made their lives miserable and destroyed the time they had together. "And it's not just for privacy, or to keep reporters away. They'll help, but..."

"THIRTY?" Sam gasped the word, shocked at the number. He'd assumed maybe three or five, but not that many. "My God, Al! I won't stand for this, no way. They have to go, now!"

"No, Sam."

"Then, I'm leaving."

"Well, give me a damn chance to explain myself before you pack, okay?"

Sam paused at the look of devastation that crossed Al's face. He looked completely at the end of his rope, desperate. "This had better be good," he said, easing back on the couch.

"Sam, there's been threats. Kidnapping, the works. I'm not going to let that happen." Al glanced up, seething at the fear that crossed Sam's face. Damn them all; making him tell the kid this was worse than anything he could imagine. "Some of these nozzles want you dead out there, and the security is going to keep that from happening and insure our privacy. Kid, I couldn't avoid it, and we're stuck for the time being."

"Who?"

The single word held as much hopelessness as Al feared. "Name it. They want you, Sam. Guess I should've told you, but I didn't want to ruin our vacation. You found out, and I look like a total ass."

"Okay." Sam sighed, brushing a hand through his thick hair. "Guaranteed, I wouldn't have agreed to this trip if I'd known this. You don't need the extra worry, and I'm sick to death of it. When will it end, Al?" His voice had grown hollow, distraught at the thought of never having the privacy he'd demanded earlier.

"Sam, for a while it's not going to stop." Al leaned forward, hands dangling between his knees, meeting his friends despairing eyes. "The best, and that's the very best that we can do, is keep those guys around us. They won't infringe on our life, they'll insure it." It was easy to see that his words were reaching Sam, the very light in his eyes fading, contrasting with the bright mood of the morning. More than anything, Al wanted to hold the kid, carefully reassuring his friend with his touch, but somehow felt distanced from his lover for the moment, the intensity of his fear barring him from contact. "You saw the news." A nod in answer, the expression growing thoughtful. "It's bigger than Apollo 11, and people are believing it."

"What about Tom and Katie?" Sam had rarely brought up his family since his mother's death, that particular wound still fresh and hurting.

"Already handled that, no problem," the older man said quickly. "They've got full coverage. We can tap out some of this when we go home. Weitzman wants a press conference; I said I'd check with you."

"When did you speak to him?"

"This morning, after I ordered the security." More betrayal in the liquid gaze, but not quite as much. "I know you're up to it, and I think between the two of us we can handle those nozzles, but if you don't want to, that's your choice. It'll take some of the heat off, once we tell our side of things, that is, the stuff the Pentagon clears for us to tell."

"How do you know anything?" The words were a harsh whisper. "Damn it, Al I'm beginning to wonder how much of 'me' exists anymore, and how much is what you know. Hell, I've forgotten the person I was before I started leaping, and every day is another layer on my being, who I am."

It wasn't difficult for Al to see that Sam's condition, mentally, was deteriorating with every word he spoke, every new crisis. It's too damned much for him, he thought, not knowing quite how to stop the boulders from rolling down the hill. "Sam," he finally said, sighing. "You're the same guy, nothing's changed. You're a little more vulnerable now, like I was after 'Nam. That'll toughen out, with time. There's been some changes, I guess. You're less cold and demanding, more patient with things, than you used to be. Less of a prima donna, more of a human being, and I like that. Scared me sometimes, made me wonder why I was your friend." A tiny grin appeared on the expressive face in front of him, and Al reached and gripped Sam's shoulder. "You don't whine half as much as you used to, kid. That's pure heaven, right there. What say we go for a walk, alone, and just spend some quiet time together? I'll give the boys the law; keep their distance, and just watch our backs."

"I guess so." A long walk with Al at his side sounded great, but under the watchful eye of security he wasn't awfully thrilled. What if he wanted to kiss his lover under the snow, or hold him close? Feeling as badly as he did now, he needed, craved that contact, and he didn't want to have to be confined to the cabin the rest of the time they had together. After this, they might never get out of the goldfish bowl. Al had moved off, saying words into the cellular, demanding privacy, and telling whoever to stay away and guard the perimeter. Sounded like a war, to Sam's ears, and he wanted to simply crawl to the bedroom and sleep for a week, avoiding all of it.

"It's all set, Sam. Sam?" Al bent down, fingers brushing against his lover's cheek, making the greenish gaze lift to meet his. The depth of despair in them made his heart sink. "C'mon, kiddo. Let's go for a walk."

Snow crunching under their feet, Al led his friend back out into the spicy coldness. Without hesitation, he curved an arm around the slim waist, pleased at the warm look that shone from the broad face. "We're going to be all right, kid. You worry too much."

"I worry enough for both of us." He staggered a bit over a lump of snow, and felt himself caught by the warm grasp, and held close and secure. Hesitantly, he lifted his arms and returned the embrace, wanting to cry, or scream, and couldn't, muffling his fear in Al's thick coat, letting the warm gloved fingers soothe his hair. "You're a pretty tough guy, Sam. If these nozzles came at you I imagine you'd take a few out before they shot you, or took you away. If you keep security around, and me, that won't have to happen. You're still recovering from the Leaps, getting used to being yourself again. I'll help you, Sam. It's okay. There's nothing more in my life that I want than to be with you."

Gray/green eyes, as ever changing as the sky above them, opened as they parted, bright with tears. Sam didn't release his hands from his lover's shoulders, not wanting to break the contact, or the electricity that emanated from the other man, that seemed to keep him alive and living. A part of himself. "I love you," he whispered, vowing to say those words as much as he could, every day they were together. He almost broke at the tiny smile that lifted Al's mouth, precious and tender at the same time, and as rare as the warm sun that shifted under and over the clouds.

"Let's take that walk, Sam. I'll introduce you to some of the guys, make it a little more comfortable for all concerned."


	14. Chapter 14

A message was waiting when they arrived back at the cabin. Sam was winded from their walk, not feeling as invigorated as he had earlier. Meeting the security squad had taken energy from him, still not comfortable with strangers, but he felt close to Kyle, the man who had met him in the clearing. He seemed honestly concerned about him, asking only comfortable questions, smiling and friendly. Al had seemed pleased that he'd responded to someone, and that made it worth the trouble. As he slumped on the couch, he let his mind drift, feeling an old familiar ache in his temples. Wincing, he reached to rub at the annoying area, and felt warm hands take his, tenderly pressing over his head.

Leaning back, he let Al ease away the stress, his gentle fingers brushing and stroking through his hair. He caught one warm hand in his, brushing his lips against the smooth, careworn palm, cupping it against his cheek, closing his eyes. His touch stilled the trembling, barely visible in his hands. Sam felt weak and sick at heart, wanting it all to end and have peace restored, their lives simple again, uncomplicated.

"You're shaking, love." Al came around and pulled his kid close, trying to soothe the trembling shoulders. "What's in your head? Talk to me, tell me."

The couch was big enough for both men and Sam rolled over onto his side, allowing Al room to slide next to him, holding him like glass. After a moment, he spoke, keeping his arms around his lover's body, half hiding his face in one shoulder. "I don't know where to start. I did good for people, and we can't tell them that. This is like Leaping, in a way, trapped by my own invention. We can't go anywhere, outside of this place, and I'm pissed about that, Al. When I got home, and we found each other, I wanted to experience everything with you, all of life that we couldn't share when I was Leaping. My God." He sighed, wanting to sink into the cushions beneath him and hide. "They want to kill me, and take me away; for what? There's nothing I can give them. You know what they'd have to do to make me say anything, and it won't happen. I'd die first."

"Don't talk like that," Al returned harshly. "Damn it, Sam, they'll never get near enough to do a thing."

"You don't understand. I don't want to live like this, Al. I'm going to ask you to do something that will be very hard, but must be done. Promise me."

"What, Sam?"

"Send security home. You can keep two or three, like Kyle, but get rid of the rest. I can't, just can't, live like this. I don't know these people. At least, at the Project, I know the guys, and understand what they're there to do. It's a secured place, and safe. Like this, with you."

"You really trust the shit out of me, don't you, kiddo?" Al was nose to nose with his love, seeing the determination and belief in him in those eyes. "All right," he acquiesced. "I'll do it, but..."

The look on Al's face was hardening, and Sam eased up from his position on the couch as the other man went upstairs for a moment then returned. The object in his hands made the younger man's stomach twist. "Oh, no," he moaned, shaking his head.

Quietly, without a word, Al slid the well oiled, rarely used Beretta on the coffee table in front of the couch where Sam sat. "You know how to use this. I brought it, kid, not anticipating trouble, not wantin' it, but..." His face was still grave, meeting the gaze of his friend soberly. "I'll use it, if I have to. It's been a while, but I can manage, when it. comes to you. If something should happen, you might have to use it, yourself."

"I don't think..."

Instantly, Al cut him off. "You save yourself, Sam. That's damned important, and I don't want you to forget it." His tone was business-like, his soft gaze deceptive of his true feelings. "Damn, kid, you'll use it. I'll kill those bastards if they lay one hand on you, and it won't be pretty."

Taking the weapon in his hand, Sam hefted it, feeling the cold steel in his hand, nearly dropping it from his shaking fingers. Smoothly, Al took it from him, laying it back on the table. "I... I was just getting the feel of it," Sam said softly. "It's not easy. I never wanted to kill, Al." Shaded eyes lifted, sober with indecision.

"I won't ask it of you, but just so you know the gun is here, Sam." He sat back in the armchair, surveying his friend's face, taking in the indecipherable emotions that lay under the ever changing surface. There was always something stirring just under those hazel eyes, now, after the Leaps, more than ever. He saw the shadows of all the men Sam had killed haunting his gaze, all the deaths that he carried. Whether or not they had been in self-defense, he'd killed them, and felt the weight of each one on his shoulders now. Those Al had strafed from his plane were faceless strangers, and he never dreamed of them, or thought twice about what he'd been duty bound to do. "Don't think too much about using it, Sam."

"What do you expect me to think?" The words were soft, plaguing fears threading each syllable. "You know me better than to think that I'll even touch the thing. Don't bring it up again."

There was a finality to Sam's tension braced words. His friend was trembling again, worse than ever, and not from the cold, with his coat wrapped securely around him. "Let's say I make something hot to drink, and we light a fire..."

"First, you tell the guards to leave. Most of them, Al, or..."

The older man hated ultimatums; even from Sam. Reluctantly, he phoned the security station and sent most of the crew home, aware of Beckett's steady gaze and listening posture. As requested, he kept Kyle and a few others that he trusted, hanging up and resting his hand on the receiver for a moment before turning back to the man on the couch. "It's done," he said flatly, not liking any of it, losing the extra protection. Something niggled at him, making him know that it was necessary, but maybe a slight bit overboard. "Just for the record, let it be known I don't like this."

"I'll rest a lot easier." He was trembling from the inside out, and his head was splitting. All the danger signs, and he knew his best bet was to go upstairs and lay down and let sleep soothe his racking nervous system. Al's watchful, mother hen gaze on him wasn't helping matters much. He shrugged away from his bracing arm, dumping coat and gloves on a chair and going upstairs to the loft.

The boots were a struggle to get off his feet, the suede soaked through and tight against his ankles. He managed, his eyes coming up to meet Al's steady gaze at the top of the stairs. Sullenly, he flopped back on the bed and curled into a ball, pulling one pillow over his head.

So, Al thought. The kid needed a nap. He'd seen the flash of pain across the bitter face. "Sam?"

"I'm taking a nap. Leave me alone for a while."

"You're in pain. And pissed at me. I did what you asked. What more do you want?"

"To be left alone, for a while." He tugged the pillow tighter over his head, just wanting to bask in unconsciousness. If he slept, he wouldn't have to think about what was happening, or see the worry in his lover's eyes. The mattress swayed for a moment, then he felt Al's warm fingers on the back of his neck, soothing and massaging the cords of tense muscles. It didn't seem to excise the headache much, but the contact was welcome and loving.

"I won't leave you by yourself until I'm sure everything's all right." Easing the pillow from Sam's clenching hands, he pressed his fingers into the tawny waves of soft hair, knowing full well the cause and source of the hurt and knowing exactly how to help the kid get some rest. He played his fingers from Sam's brow to neck, pressing his temples and soothing to the curve of shoulder blade and back again.

"I didn't want to take another pill," Sam mumbled, fully relaxed, enjoying his lover's skilled touch. "What was the message when we came back?"

"You don't want to know," Al groaned, trying to make light of it.

Sam turned onto his back, his hands grasping Al's, halting his touch. "What was it?"

"Weitzman. I... well, he wants us to cut short our vacation, kid. We might have to leave in a couple of days." Nothing could come close to the disappointment that fell over Sam's face. "Sorry. They've called the press conference in three days. I told him, we'd see. You need the break, and..."

"I'm ready for it. Ready and willing." Turning onto his side, Sam felt his insides cringe at the thought of the reporters and their questions. "I'll write out a list of questions, and think of answers. We have time, Al."

"I'm asking for a week, Sam. We'll have a little time to prepare for this thing, and relax before taking on the lions. He owes us that much, at least."

The lean back trembled for a moment, Al smoothing his hand over the t-shirt Sam wore, the thin white material stretched over the overtense muscles. "Al, I want to rest now and think about things. Give me a little time, would you?"

"Sure, kid, anything you want." The older man turned the lights down and left his friend alone to sleep. It was time to call Weitzman with his ultimatum, and not give the man any options. Sam was deteriorating, and he didn't want him to turn into an invalid again because of all this.


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 9

"Sam, time to wake up!"

Al's voice from below made the younger man blink and stretch, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. The room was practically dark; he must've slept the afternoon away. Cooking smells assailed his nostrils, something wonderful, no doubt, that he'd have trouble choking down on a bet. His head didn't seem to ache quite as bad as it had earlier, but, nevertheless, throbbed quietly in the background.

"You doing okay, kid?" Al's concerned face appeared at the top of the stairs. "Checked on you a couple of times, and, man, you were really out of it. It's nearly seven."

Sam was still as stone, sitting on the edge of the bed, the dark silhouette silent, holding his head in his hands. Quickly, he walked over, placing his hands on the firm shoulders, squinting in the poor light to see his friend's face. The kid looked terrible, not at all rested. He thought for a moment about letting him sleep longer, and changed his mind, knowing full well the kid hadn't eaten a thing since breakfast and should at least attempt dinner. "Head still hurt?"

"No." The word snapped out too quickly, and he could tell by the flash of anger on Al's face that he hadn't bought his lie.

"You haven't eaten all day, and that's not helping matters. Damn it, Sam, you bullshit me about a headache."

"You've been 'bullshitting' me all day!" The moment he snapped the words out, regretting it the moment he did. The pain intensified with his shout, drawing his hands up to his temples where the pressure seemed centered. "Damn it, Al, I hurt like hell, okay? My eyes feel like they're about to fall out of my head, and I've got a shitty disposition."

"Don't snap at me like I'm a piece of crap again." Al bristled with anger, finally sick and tired of the kid's mood swings, and his quick and snotty way of getting his point across. "I've done the best I can do. First thing, we fix up that head of yours. You know where your damn pills are, so take one-after dinner. Which, by the way, you'll eat and keep down, or wish you had."

Al swept out of the room, and Sam moved to follow, staggering down the stairs, making good use of the handrail and walls as he sat down at the table. Silently, Al set the bowl of salad in front of Sam and took a seat, avoiding his eyes as he ate.

"What kind of dressing is this?" Sam questioned, just trying to make conversation. It wasn't very pleasant eating dinner with a silent, somehow hostile table companion.

"Just eat, Sam. It's out of a bottle, and, no. I don't remember what I dumped on it." Al stabbed his fork into a chunk of lettuce and popped it into his mouth, chewing and swallowing, not tasting a bit of it. He'd not snapped at Sam in quite a while and hated doing it, especially when the kid was hurting. Lips tight, he shoved back from the table, feeling like several kinds of heel, striding into the kitchen and leaning against the butcher block. There was no logical reason to blame himself for every setback in Sam's condition, and still, he did. This time, the security, and telling him what was going on might have aggravated the headache. God knows, they were painful, and only meant he'd have more trouble walking, later.

"Al?"

The older man's head came up, discovering Sam was at his shoulder, staring at him with an incredibly intense gaze, curious and worried.

"Sorry, pal." The ghost of a smile crossed Sam's face for a moment, one elegant hand pressed over the smaller, dark one. "I'm really a burden, at times. You used to goad me into doing things I didn't want, on leaps, and before. Lately, you've been walking on eggs, and that has to stop. You were right to snap at me. Maybe knocked a few screws loose, but it had the desired effect. I'll be all right, I promise. I can handle this, I really can."

"Let's go finish dinner, kid." He gripped the proffered hand, returning the grin. "Then, you'll do something about that headache."

"No pills, Al. No more." Sam shook his head as he sat down. "I've had it with them. I'm a doctor, don't forget that. It's long past the time they should be working, and I'm sick of being sedated to get rid of these things." He took Al's plate, much to the older man's surprise, and served the casserole to him, and then took his own helping. "Maybe a hot bath, or a soak in the hot tub out back, and a good massage, if you will, and I'll be ready for a decent night's sleep."

"I talked to Weitzman," Al said, watching Sam's reaction to his culinary toss together. The satisfied look spoke volumes; the kid was easy to please, most of the time. "He says we got another five days, but no more. White Sands is under siege, literally. You can't get near our house for all the reporters, and it's not long before they try to get at us here. He made arrangements for a private flight, Navy style, to take us home to Alamagordo, Friday."

"I want to go skiing, Al. Regardless of anything, I'm doing that, no arguments."

"No problem. We'll do it during the week, when the crowds are a little..."

"Screw the crowds. I don't care. With my goggles on, and the whole outfit, nobody will recognize me." There was a new sound to Sam's voice, firmer, more in control than before. "We'll go together, spend the day, at least one, maybe two, on the slopes. I've been dying for a good run forever, and it's time I go, before we get home."

"Whatever." Al took his plate to the kitchen, his appetite suddenly gone, setting the dish in the sink and rinsing the food down the drain. Would somebody try to nab Sam while he skied, or just stood around? God, he had to squelch this paranoia or he'd never function. "Sounds good, and I think there's a place near Calgary we can go to-they used it for the Olympics in '86." Before he could turn around, he felt certain arms circle his waist, and warm lips on his neck. "Seems to me," Al said, possessively pressing his hands over Sam's. "That headache is gone."

"Not quite." Sighing, Sam buried his face in Al's shoulder for a moment, closing his eyes. "It's pretty bad, actually. Dizziness, the works."

What Al really wanted to do was call Swann, and was tired of running to him every time Sam was sick. The seriousness of his condition made it plain he had little choice. Prolonged headache had been one of the warning signs the doctor had told him to watch for.

"I know what you're thinking. I'll do it this time." Sam sighed, pulling away from the warm body and heading for the phone. "It's about time I take care of myself for a change."

For the first time, Al realized, Sam was beginning to act more like himself. As he cleared the table, he kept an ear open, listening to his friend's side of the conversation, pleased at his honesty with Swann, and hearing the usual complaints about the medication. When the call ended, Sam silently took the bottle of prescribed pills and took one, chasing it with a glass of water. His look made Al keep his mouth shut, knowing better than to say I told you so.

"More tests when I get home," he sighed, slumping on a stool. "I hate this."

"They said it might take a year, Sam. That's..."

"Forever." A solid fist slammed into the counter, making the contents jump.

"Geez, and just when I think you've quit whinin'." Al shoved Sam in the general direction of the bath. "Run yourself a tub, and sit in it. Soak. When

you've been in there long enough, come out and I'll give you a good rubdown and then. bed. Sleep. I'm in no mood tonight to listen to you bitch about the meds, or anything else for that matter." His voice was just on the edge of impatience, and, at this point, he could care less. "A good night's rest, and you'll be ready for thinking - tomorrow, Sam."

"You're right," the younger man said reluctantly, somewhat pleased to hear the 'old' Al snapping at him. It felt real, and less coddling.

He luxuriated in the tub for as long as he could, letting the pill take effect and smooth out the horrible pain in his head. The skin searing hot water eased over him, pulling what little energy was left out of every pore, lulling him into sleep. A nagging voice told him that sleeping in the tub was hazardous to one's health, but he shoved it aside, utterly relaxed and peaceful, easing him away from his problems and concerns.

Just as he suspected, Al found his snoring friend, dead asleep in lukewarm water. He'd let a half hour pass before checking on him, knowing well that he'd crash and not think twice about it. Sam wasn't the only one who hated the meds; the way they completely knocked him out at times, especially when he was in extreme pain.

"C'mon, Sam." Kneeling by the tub, Al trailed his fingers along the exposed arm, teasing the kid awake. He was awarded by the greenish eyes cracking open, a sleepy smile appearing on the lax face. "Can't lay in this all night, babe."

"Why not?" the younger man question grumpily, smiling just a bit at the endearment.

"Because I said so." Grunting, Al half-pulled the heavy body from the tub, only so much flesh and bones now, relaxed and limp from his bath. Setting his cargo on the commode, Al toweled off the heat pinked skin, and wrapped him in the thick bathsheet before reaching to drain the tub. Turning back to Sam, he discovered that his friend was again asleep, head resting against the wall, nestled deep in the folds of terrycloth. Sighing, Al gently eased his companion to his feet, grudgingly making one stubborn foot step in front of the other until they arrived in the living room. The stairs were simply out of the question; no way could Sam negotiate them tonight, and their contrast in size prohibited him from carrying him. Not on a bet. Coaxing Sam along, he gently dumped him on the couch, making sure he was temporarily comfortable, before heading upstairs for the down filled comforter he'd seen in the linen closet. Returning, he spread it over the floor near the hearth, stacking folded blankets nearby and setting pillows on the side away from the fire. He was pleased that the comforter was more like a thin futon; cushioned and moderately cozy to sleep on.

"All right, Sammy." He sighed at the contentedly sleeping man, looking so at peace, deeply asleep, curled into a ball on the old couch. He transferred the half- conscious man from sofa to floor, easing the lax body onto the comforter and tucking one pillow under Sam's head. Barely aware, he snuggled into the feather softness, turning onto his stomach once before dropping off once again. Smiling quietly, Al slipped the towel off the prone form and tucked one warm blanket around his lover, planting a kiss on his cheek before rising.

A quick shower and fresh pajamas, and Al laid next to his slumbering lover, curling around the warm body, pressing his cheek against the smooth back. With his fingers, he gently traced a line from neck to rounded shoulder, memorizing the warm feel of skin and downy hairs. Smiling softly, he dropped into an easy sleep, the sound of Sam's breathing and the crackle of the low fire at his feet.

The blaze had long since died, leaving a lingering warmth in the room. Al blinked in the dim light of early morning, untangling his arm from Sam to check his watch. Seven a.m. Knocking at the door? It must be what had awakened him; not the best way, and certainly trouble if security deemed to disturb him at this hour.

Opening the door, he took in the tall man with the vivid blue eyes. Kyle. "It better be good," he said, his voice still filled with sleep.

"I'm afraid we have visitors. Sir." A lock of black hair fell over the man's forehead, dipping his head apologetically. "We tried to reach you by phone, but it seemed out of order. Regardless," he continued quickly, overlooking the guilty look that crossed the Admiral's face. "There are at least thirty reporters at the entrance to the property, and more arriving every few minutes. It seems someone leaked your location."

With a sigh, Al remembered disconnecting the phone the night before, to avoid the ringing from waking Sam. "Fucking wonderful."

"Yes, Sir. I'm very sorry. We could attempt to clear them off, but without the extra backup..."

"No problem. Order more men. I don't give a shit. Clear those bastards the hell out of here."

"What about the helicopters, Sir? We could order a clearance of air space, and I'm sure the Canadians wouldn't object."

"Helicopters? This is getting fucking out of hand, Kyle." Raggedly brushing his hand through his short hair, Al tried to piece together the parts of his brain that was awake and think. "Get your commander up here as soon as possible, and we'll discuss what to do."

"He would have come up in person, but he. . . " A smile crossed the grave face for a moment, lighting up the man's features. "Well, he sort of has his hands full."

"There is one thing, a very important thing." Al was lucid enough to want a point cleared up, and immediately. "I want to know how the fuckers found us."

"Yes, Sir."

Closing the door, Al slumped on the chair near the phone, trying hard to decide what to do next. His heart was practically pounding through his silk shirt, and he longed for that early morning cigar that was prohibited by Sam and his doctor.

"Al... what is it?" Blanket wrapped around his slim waist, Sam leaned against the support post between great room and kitchen, looking sleepy and worried. He'd heard some of the conversation, awakened by Al's abrupt leave-taking, but not enough to clarify the situation.

"We got company, again, kid." Face smoothing into gentle lines, Al smiled up at Sam, well-noting the dismay that fell over the expressive face. "I was forced to go back on a promise I made to you. The unit has been recalled; full contingent. I'm sorry, Sam." The roar of a helicopter directly overhead temporarily distracted him for a moment, making his gut clench in fury.

The look that came over Al's face at the moment of the roaring blades made Sam's blood boil. "Damn it," he said quietly, seeing every bit of fought for privacy flying as swiftly as the chopper. Still fogged from the meds, he managed to cross the small patch of floor to sit by his worried friend and place a warm hand against the haggard cheek for a moment. "I'm not angry, Al. We don't have much of a choice, do we?"

"I'm afraid not." Squaring his shoulders, Al sat up in the chair, facing the kid in front of him. "Not this time. I was willing to send them all away and take our chances, but with the Enquirer breathing down our butt..." There was another knock at the door, making his dark gaze flash to the entrance. "Damn it," he ground out. "What now?"

"I'll get dressed and..."

"Listen, Sam." Sighing, Al rose from the chair and placed his hands on the slumping shoulders. "You need your rest. I don't know who or what will manage to make their way through the squad, Sam. I can tell you're still out from the meds. Why don't you go upstairs and..."

"I can't do that." A firm line formed between the darkening eyes. "No. This is our lives, Al. It's about time I participated." One warm hand rested on Al's shoulder for a moment, squeezing gently. "I'll go change. Maybe you should do the same."

Puzzled for a moment, Al watched Sam take the stairs, none too surely, but with a stride that meant recovery. Pleasure overwhelmed his confusion; Sam was coming back, the man he'd been before the retrieval, solid and in control. Pushing up from the chair, he headed for the bath, shaking his head slowly, marveling at the subtle change in his lover, pleased and amazed at the same time.

I could sleep for another twelve hours, easy, Sam thought, pulling the loose white sweater down, smoothing it over the casual white cotton slacks. The image in the full length mirror was worn, but presentable, looking better than he felt. The sound of Al in the kitchen warmed him, knowing the other man, possibly quite as worn out as he felt, was preparing breakfast, keeping himself busy to distract his mind from current worries.

Of course, this morning his left side was determined to bother him. Bracing on the wall and using the banister kept him from tumbling to the floor, and he entered the kitchen and quickly took a seat. The warm expression in Al's dark eyes made him smile, accepting the light kiss he received.

"You look great, Sam," he said, planting a cup of hot coffee in front of the other man and taking a seat across from him.

"You look... conservative." Used to seeing Al in colorful, albeit tasteful outfits, he frowned at the dark slacks and blue shirt. "Al, you look like you're expecting trouble."

"Could be, could be." The dark head upturned as another helicopter made a pass, grimacing. "I'm afraid to turn on the set. God knows what's on the news."

"I guess I'll do it, then." Determined to keep his hands from trembling as he did it, Sam reached and switched the small tv on, still tuned to CNN. Wisely, he kept the sound down, the pictures that flashed across the screen silent testimony to their predicament. A beautiful aerial view of the cabin, and that damned reporter, Robert Weeks, the same one that had tried to invade their home in New Mexico, was speaking.

"Turn it up, Sam. We might as well hear what the jerk is saying."

Mouth tightening, Sam did as ordered, sitting back in the kitchen chair and watching with a growing apprehension. He had a memory of this man, so determined to interview him at the house, just the barest of glimpses of that face before Al had sent him back to bed.

"...Canada. Attempts at contacting Dr. Beckett have been thwarted by the State Department, and security, here. There is no comment from the Pentagon, and statements that were promised have been put off, for the time being." The determined iciness in the man's gaze belied his disappointed tone. "This is Robert Weeks, CNN. We will update you in one hour. Martin?" The scene faded to the anchorman back at the network and Sam turned the sound down, the tv off.

"That's one that doesn't take no for an answer." Al turned back to the coffee and poured himself another cup. "How are you feeling, Sam?"

"Not completely here, but managing, thank you." The words were spoken softly, expression thoughtful.

Al could almost hear the gears turning in the fertile mind. "You want to talk to him, don't you?"

"Anything, " the younger man sighed, relieved that Al so quickly read his mind. "Just to keep them off our back. Do you think it might be possible? It's either that, or leave, and I'm not ready to go. not yet. I'm...well, having some trouble walking, and tired, but I'll survive."

For the younger man to admit he wasn't feeling up to par made it clear that there was a definite change in him, for the best. Kneeling in front of Sam, Al took the slightly trembling hands into his, seeing the exasperation and impatience in the ever changing eyes. "I'll make the arrangements, but Weeks, and only him. One interview, if you're really feeling up to it. I'll find out what's cleared and what's not and then we'll send for the jerk."

"I'll make another pot of coffee. Make the calls." Sam pressed one small hand to his lips for a moment before releasing it, thanking his friend silently for allowing him to have his way, this time. As Al spoke on the phone, Sam noticed the worn lines on the tired face, and his friend's unhealthy pallor. It was clear that he needed a break, as much as he did. Maybe if he talked to Weeks that might make things easier for both of them.

"What the hell do you mean? Sanction..." Al's words were a shout, cutting through the quiet cabin. "I'm not asking for permission, I'm..." Lips pinched into a tight line, Sam watched with growing concern. "Then you'd better be damned good and prepared to clear them out of here - now, if not sooner. We're on vacation, for five more days, and..." The steady buzz on the other end lit the fuse, and Al exploded into a string of expletives and slammed the phone down on the counter.

"I guess that is a 'no'?"

"They want control over an interview, Sam. Complete and total." Al strode into the kitchen and slumped in the other chair. "They'll make out the questions, answers, everything. Any unauthorized interview and we get stuck into jail, or worse. I don't give two shits anymore about my commission, but they're threatening that, too. Admiral or no, it's not cutting with them."

"Then... we've got one option."

"I don't like that look, Sam."


	16. Chapter 16

"You don't know anything about what I'm about to do." Sam pushed up from the chair and reached for his cane, leaning against the kitchen island. "Call the squad. I'm going out there. My decision. You can tell the Pentagon you couldn't stop me, that I was out and gone before you could."

"No." Taking control of the situation was one thing, but going out there in his condition, and without authorization, was another. "You know what those media nozzles are capable of. Think. You can't tell them you leaped into lives and changed them. Not yet. We'll clear stuff, once we get back to the Project and Ziggy. There's all this need to know biz, and you've got to protect your interests." He gripped the upper arms of the man in front of him, forcing the defeated gaze to meet his. "And, kiddo, I hate to remind you of this, but with the slightest revelation, there will be crazies doing their best to break into the Project and try to use the Accelerator. It's in pieces, still, but do you want the responsibility of someone getting blown away on your shoulders? I don't, kid, and I know you don't either."

"It won't happen, Al. Three checkpoints before the Project and two after that. You tell me to not go out there and I won't, but inside I'll be longing it, wondering every time we have to deal with them if I could have stopped it, here and now, and reduced the pressure."

"I'll try talking to the Pentagon again, Sam. I promise, I'll reach a compromise. Something. They don't want to give us those five days, and we're going to have cut short all this. Maybe I can buy us some time, maybe not. Don't go out there, because once your face is on the news they'll know the target and..."

"Is that it?" There was no anger in the tone, only despair. "Can it possibly be that bad?"

With a sinking feeling, Al knew the truth must come out, the letters, from before Sam had returned from Tom's, and the phone threats from fanatics and crazies, all wanting either to take Sam forcibly, or kill him. Each one had been a stab in his heart, and he'd felt telling Sam about them, in more detail, would stress the younger man out to the point that he couldn't recover. Swann's warnings had hammered against his ears, and he had heeded them, until now, those questioning and slightly betrayed eyes boring into his.

"The first news reports, Sam. When that first picture appeared in the paper, you know, the one taken at the farm?" Sliding into a chair, the younger man nodded, listening with a thought-filled expression. "That's when the board reported the calls, letters. You name it. Threats, fanatics wanting to know more, because there wasn't much to go on, then. Some of them said they knew who you were, what you'd done. Crazy stuff, wanting to use the time machine to change their lives, demanding it, like it was their god-given right. Some wanted you dead, because you could have caused some of the problems in their lives, simply by your trespass in a place that was forbidden. Those are the ones that scared the shit out of me, and everyone else. One said, in your condition, which was clear from the photos that you were using a cane, that you could be killed easily, or kidnapped without a lot of effort. Held for ransom, or the secret, whatever that's supposed to mean."

"All right." One hand came up, silencing Al for the moment. "Do what you can," he sighed, his eyes narrowing to dark, indecipherable slits. "Damn it, Al, I don't want to go through the next month or year, or decade worrying about every stranger I meet, or wondering who to trust, outside of you. I have a life, and I want to travel, to all these functions later, and not worry every moment about being taken from you."

"They'll have to go through me, Sam." There was another knock at the door, and reluctantly he got up from his crouched position in front of the other man, to answer it. "Commander Sliwa."

"I can't stay long, Admiral." The tall, Native American man entered, removing his hat as he came into the kitchen. His obsidian gaze rested on Sam for a moment before continuing. "The extra men are on their way, will be arriving within the hour. I'm sorry for the inconvenience, Dr. Beckett."

"It couldn't be avoided." Hand gripping the table, Sam managed to lever himself from the table, half-wondering at the worsening lethargy in his left leg. It couldn't be helped, he guessed, not until he went home. "Would you like a cup of coffee?"

A grateful smile appeared on Sliwa's face. "I sure would. It's been one hell of a morning."

"Sliwa." The Admiral leaned across the table, hands flat on the surface in front of him, eyes steely. "How did they find us?"

"People along the way. The CNN reporter was the worst, unbelievable. Seems to me, he's been tracking both of you the entire way. I wouldn't be awfully surprised...thank you." He accepted the coffee, sipping at the hot brew with relish. "God bless caffeine. As I was saying, I have an idea that he's being leaked information, but there's no proof. He's plenty persistent. There should be a break from the helicopters. It's getting just a bit out of hand, and we've managed to receive enough complaints from the neighbors to keep the d. . . well, to keep them out of here, for now."

"These are your orders, from me." As the man in true command, for now, Al made it perfectly clear with his voice and expression that he was in charge. "When the others arrive, I want the reporters discharged. Gone. This is our vacation, and we've got a few more days. This isn't what we expected."

"We'll take care of it, Admiral." Sliwa set the half-finished cup on the table. He observed but didn't comment on Dr. Beckett's apparent condition. Whatever experience he'd been through had gravely injured him, and he looked like a man who hadn't had a decent rest in days. "I have to be getting back and play crowd control until the squad arrives. We'll do everything within our power to remove the unwanted guests. Admiral." With a tip of his head, he took his leave, quietly closing the door behind him.

The moment the Commander left, Sam felt himself relax, slumping in the chair

Chapter 10

The gaze in the greenish eyes was a mixture of disappointment and relief. After two phone calls to Weitzman, and more unreasonable walls being thrust up in his face, Al had awakened Sam to give him the news. They were to leave immediately, no question. "I'm sorry, pal," Al said, as upset about the ultimatum as his friend was. "No choice. Pretty soon, even security may not be able to handle what's going on out there."

"How long have I been out?" Brushing the blanket from his body, Sam struggled to rise from the couch, easing away from Al's assisting hands. "I told you to wake me up. "

"Four hours. You can catch a nap on the plane. I packed, got all the stuff together."

With a dazed expression, Sam gazed at the pile of suitcases set by the door, and back to Al's frustrated grimace. "Can it be this bad?"

"'Fraid so. There's more than a hundred media organizations out there. Security is beefing up, and we'll have a full contingent to take us to the airport and put us on the private flight. All the arrangements have been made by Weitzman. We'll land at Alamagordo, take a car and hit the Project. Once we're there you can get checked over and they can't get in until we have that damned press conference." With a grudging sigh, Al handed Sam the newspaper that Sliwa had brought after the younger man had crashed. "You'll understand, after reading this. All in loving detail." Anger made his words a near growl.

"I... I've never seen this before." One photo on the front page made his throat close. His gaze drifted up to meet Al's. "Is this what you saw that night?"

"At the time they called it 'lights in the sky'," Al said, trying to keep his voice even. "I was on the highway, heading home. Blue light, and knew what it meant. Without a question. There were a lot of pictures in the paper the next day, but nobody had any idea what was going on. That is, until now. They have this spectrum analysis thing, checks photos out, can tell if it's radiation. That's the exact location of the Project, Sam. The night you Leaped."

"It's being backed up by physicists all over the world." A tinge of betrayal touched Sam's words. "Colleagues I worked on the string theory with; LoNigro, his wife, others. People I trusted."

"Not Drayton, though, " Al said, referring to the physicist he and Sam had worked with on the Imaging Chamber. "They tried for an interview and he declined. Probably made his life miserable, too."

"I wouldn't be surprised." Sam crumpled the page, letting it drop to the floor. "When do we leave?"

"As soon as you feel up to it."

"I guess I do. The nap helped a bit, but I'll need my cane." Edging off the couch he tentatively lowered his feet to the floor. His left side seemed less numb, and moving grudgingly, but not anywhere near as well as it had a week ago. Smiling slightly, he noted there was no sympathy or pity in Al's expression, just support and love. "Well, if I fall, you'll keep me from hitting the floor, won't you?"

"Count on it." The real worry was the shots the photo journalists would get of the crippled man, and what kind of conclusions they'd come to. "Security will try their best to clear them out of the airport before we arrive. It's a tiny one, not far from here, and the flight should be waiting for us when we arrive. Some vacation; five days. This isn't the best of ways to end it."

"Can't argue with you there, Al." Reaching out, Sam touched his friend's face, trying to wipe away the sullen expression on his craggy face. "You okay?"

"I'm beat," Al admitted, gripping and holding the proffered hand, planting one gentle kiss in the palm before releasing. "We've been through worse, I guess. On Leaps." A soft sigh escaped his lips. "Real life is no fun, Sam. Times like this I wish I was still in the I.C. waiting for that next scenario. You were safe there, and I had you all to myself, for the most part. It's gonna be a while before we have quiet time again."

Sam's head lifted as a knock sounded from the door.

"Must be Sliwa. I told him I'd be getting you up shortly. He's anxious to take us to safety, out of Canada."

As Al rose to answer the persistent knock, Sam pulled him close for a moment, savoring the touch and feel of the other man, lips clinging to Al's mouth, tasting and desperately memorizing the sensation of his kiss. As he released his friend, Sam gave him an impish smile. "That'll have to do until we get home."

"Keep that up, kid and they'll really have something to write about." Returning the grin, Al went to answer the door.

The anxiety didn't hit until they ventured out into the crisp, cold air. Al's hand on his arm gave him little solace. Sliwa himself drove them from the cabin, one last glimpse at the peaceful place making Sam long to stay, but knowing reasonably that it was no longer the secure home he and Al had came to at first. Edginess positively oozed from his friend, a pensive, tight expression making him want to hold him close, or touch him, and knowing that, too, was out of place for where they were.

"Dr. Beckett?" Sliwa turned for a moment as they neared the end of the long driveway. "I'd suggest you keep your head down, sir."

The fear welled up in the physicist, almost overflowing. He could hear the chaos that lay ahead of them, the sounds of voices growing to shouts. Bending his head, he partially covered his face with one hand, peering through his fingers as they drove past the massed reporters and camera equipment. It was crazy, people screaming his name, dashing toward the quickly moving vehicle, security personnel lining the narrow road keeping more adventurous reporters at bay. As they pulled out onto the highway, Sam let himself relax for a moment, breathing again, glancing at the myriad trucks and vehicles parked on the shoulder. "Oh boy," he breathed, finally glancing over at Al. The Admiral was sitting straight up in the seat, back pressed against the leather, eyes focused and concerned.

"That was the worst of it, Sam." Al eased his hand over to touch the cold fingers clenched around the seat belt. "Shouldn't be too bad at the airport, and maybe they didn't find out about it. Sliwa?"

"It's hard to say. Sir," the Commander said quickly eyes on the road. "There are few alternatives, as far as airports go, in this area, and some of the more persistent may try to make it there before us. They'll give us a merry chase, but security is going to try and keep them centralized at your cabin until we arrive."

"Thank you," Sam said, grateful for the efficiency of the Commander and his squad. "For everything."

"No problem. Dr. Beckett." Sliwa's angular face had not lost any of the attentive tension, dark eyes bright and watchful.

Some of the stress dropped from Al's shoulders. He'd been most worried about leaving, knowing the lengths reporters would go for a hot story. Sitting next to him was the center of the media universe, and he'd do everything in his power to keep him from the worst of the questions. One thing nagged; the fact that he hadn't seen Weeks among the group at the cabin. Instinct told him they would still encounter the persistent bastard, regardless of any precautions.

Upon arriving at the small airfield, they were quickly hustled from the car and to the waiting plane. Sam adjusted himself as he got out of the car, grateful that Al wasn't making a big deal out of his latest physical setback. The cane kept him from toppling over, that, and Al's hand on his elbow, guiding him across the tarmac to the ready jet. The cold wind brushed his long hair back, freezing his ears, blinking against the icy sensation.

"Dr. Beckett!"

He turned the second he heard his name, eyes wide, lips parted as if to answer. In shock, he realized it was the reporter from CNN, nearly at his shoulder, security hustling in the moment he made his presence known.

"Sam!" Al intensified his protective grip on the younger man, trying to hustle him away from the man. Security nabbed Weeks almost immediately, practically dragging him from his quest. All Al could think of was to get his friend into the safety of the plane and hope for no more interference. Damn this persistent bastard

anyway!

"Dr. Beckett"

The sharp cry cut through the air, and Sam hesitated, standing rock still at the bottom of the stairs. The anxiety on Al's face made it plain he wanted him to move, but the reporter's presence seemed to hold him there, curiosity about what he had to ask him growing with each step he took.

Maybe it was pure bitterness at being taken from his goal so efficiently, and no chance for one real question. Weeks blurted the words out, a hurting, nasty query, guaranteed to stir up a hornet's nest of anger and resentment, as deep as what he was feeling in accumulated frustration. He wasn't given an opportunity to judge the reaction from the physicist, hauled across the tarmac and away, like so much garbage.

The question had cut Sam to the bone. "Did the trauma of your return cause your mother's death?" Flashing an absolutely stricken look at Al, he pulled away from the Admiral's firm, supportive grip and mounted the stairs, anxious to get inside and sit in the quiet for a moment. As he entered the aircraft, he nodded at the pilot, and his support, smiling perfunctionaly at the woman who led him to a seat in the back and offered him a drink. He gave her a negative, leaning his head against the bulkhead, eyes gazing out at the situation outside; his friend screaming to high heaven at Weeks and the reporter's defiant stance. That would put Al in a tenuous position, nothing he couldn't handle. If this was the caliber of questions he'd be asked it might take forever for him to be ready to answer them. It cut so close to his real feelings, wondering if his arrival on the farm had put too much extra stress on his mother's weak heart. Yet another burden to carry. Pinching his upper lip between his fingers, he closed his eyes, just wanting to leave this place and the reporter far behind him.

After what seemed like hours he felt a warm presence sit next to him, the ghost of a smile passing over the younger man's face. "You shouldn't have even talked to him, Al."

"That wasn't talking." The ire was still apparent in Al's voice, barely under check. "I gave the nozzle a what for, a good reaming out. Did me a world of good. Irresponsible prick."

"He was trying to get my goat, make me react." Sam brushed a hand over his forehead for a moment, trying to push away the annoying ache there. "I figured just let it lie, Al."

"I told him he wouldn't be allowed at the conference. Not for a second, a milliminute. Damn him anyway."

"Calm down." Sam tuned out the anger that was still radiating from his overly protective friend. Maybe it was just the plane, and being in it's safe metal confinement at last, but a peace was falling over him, glad to be going home, perhaps, or just glad that the first breach in their privacy had been thwarted efficiently. Seeing how neatly the reporter had been dispatched may have done him a world of good. "You got it out of your system, at least. It'll be good to see Verbena and Gooshie again. Even Swann. And Greg." He saw the tiny smile flicker over the annoyed Admiral mode for a moment, knowing he was getting through the furious facade. "And the house. Laying out for a week. I'll do that to make up not being able to ski."

"Well, Sam - we'll hit the slopes, sometime." The pilot's voice came over the intercom, instructing them to fasten their seatbelts. The men complied, feeling the first rush of jet engines revving to take them back to New Mexico. "How you feeling?"

"I wish you'd stop asking that." There was no malice in Sam's tone, chasing the words with a stray grin, belying the twisted feeling in his gut still dwelling from Week's statement. "I'm feeling okay. We'll know more when I talk to Swann tomorrow, or whenever. I'm just glad to get the hell out of here."

Well, we're in one piece, so far, Al thought, pressing against the seat back and relaxing as they took off from the airport. Sam's face was set in relaxed, yet pensive lines. He seemed quietly accepting of the situation, and the older man knew in his heart that the imminent explosion was still to come.

As tired as he was, Sam couldn't make himself sleep on the trip home. Al's tension seemed to keep him electrifyingly alert, as if the older man was a sponge of emotionals that Beckett was absorbing. The view was breathtaking over the Rockies, but he noticed little of it, his mind planning what to say, to placate the media and feed their overwhelming appetite for information.

"You should be resting."

"I'm fine," Sam answered softly, turning his gaze to the man at his side.

Sam looked so thoughtful, introspective. It wasn't difficult to figure what was on his mind. "A few weeks, and no one will think twice about what's happened. It'll be all over. I hope that jerk's question didn't mess you up. You've been so touchy lately..."

"I'm okay, just thinking about a few things, what our life will be like." The gentle voice was quiet, conscious of the security men nearby. "It won't be this forever, Al. I'll tell you, it'll be great to have our lives back again. What's going to happen at Alamagordo?"

"Sliwa seems to know his business, and doesn't anticipate trouble. We'll be met by five or six troops, nothing big. Once we arrive, it's back to the Project, and you get that exam from Swann." There was no objection from Sam, in either his expression or words, which confused him even more. "You seem to be taking this very well, considering."

"I'm not worried, Al." A breath left him, as if he'd been holding it. "I've got this calm washing over me, just glad to be getting things over with, and going back to the Project. You need to relax and realize it's going to be all done with, soon. Tonight, we can be home, in our house, just taking care of each other." His voice had dropped to a whisper, and Al had to lean in close to hear. "I love you."

"You're going to have me on the floor in a minute, Sam." Every ounce of care he held for the man next to him was flowing his heart over, but he kept his true feelings in control. "Same from me, and twice. You want something to eat?"

"You want the truth?"

"Sam Beckett!" Gritting his teeth over the scampish look he was receiving, he squirmed uncomfortably in the seat. "I asked if you were hungry."

Seeing his companion was in no mood for a game of double entendre, Sam just grinned. "I could go for something, I guess."

"I'll order you some lunch, and then," Al unbuckled his belt, heading out of the seat to the galley. "You're taking that nap. We won't be landing for another four hours, and I think you could use the rest."


	17. Chapter 17

The younger man managed to catch a few winks before they landed in New Mexico. Once he'd closed his eyes, it took little effort to give into exhaustion. Appeased, Al felt content to let his friend sleep and check with Sliwa on their status, if any. He found the Commander in deep conference with Kyle, both men turning to face the Admiral as he approached them.

"You can both stay at ease, " Al said quickly, sitting down across from them. "I hope we can avoid jumping like military around here, for the time being anyway."

"I'm sorry about the incident at the airport, Admiral." Sliwa's jaw clenched, taking the reporter's intrusion as a personal fault, on his part. "We'll do our best to avoid that in the future. Alamagordo seems to be secure. I checked with our head of security there, and he predicts no incidents. Some press have arrived, nothing consequential. It'll be a tight ship. Sir."

"I'll take your word on that, Commander. I want the entire place cordoned off. No offense to your men, or mine, but that place is going to be so tight that linguini won't get through it. Understood?"

"I'll see to it. Admiral."

With Sam asleep, Al carefully removed the cigar from the inside of his coat and lit up, making sure the smoke didn't drift to the back of the plane and alert his over-anxious friend. It tasted fine, every puff a wonderful, soothing experience.

"Admiral?"

The tall, dark haired man approached Al with a sense of respect and just a touch of concern. "I hope it isn't too personal a question, but is Dr. Beckett okay? I saw the cane, and wondered..."

"Just a little after effects of...what he was doing." Regardless of the press, time travel was still on the classified list. "It's nice of you to ask, but I wouldn't bring it up with him. He's a little touchy about that subject. Stubborn."

"He's a good person. Admiral. I'm privileged to be working with you both."

Sincerity stood out in the blue gaze, and Al had to smile at the young man's respectful stance. "You're not too bad yourself, Kyle. Maybe you can get reassigned at White Sands. I can make the arrangements, if you ever get a bee in your bonnet and want to move on."

"Thank you, Sir. The desert might be a interesting change from Seattle. I'll certainly think about it."

As Kyle went back to his seat, Al's eyes strayed to the back of the plane, half-smiling at his sleeping friend. The sun from his window was lacing the chestnut hair with gold, face turned toward the light. All the lines of stress were erased from his expression, sleep making him look like a kid without a care. Suddenly, the cigar was tasting stale, and he decided he wasn't enjoying the rush as much as he had originally. He shoved the remnants of the stogie in a metal ashtray and went back to his seat. Maybe he could catch a few winks himself, now that things had settled down.

The scene in Alamagordo seemed quiet. There was nothing quite like the look on Sam's face as they landed; pleased and relieved, looking younger than he had in weeks. His excitement at being home was apparent, glancing back once at Al's face, flashing him a quiet smile that spoke volumes.

They deboarded, Al keeping a firm grip on Sam's arm, gently reassuring and protective. Even with the security he wasn't about to let Beckett out of his sight or touch for a moment. The familiar place seemed foreign, alien, Al' s senses screaming danger the moment they entered the boarding area. The bored, or indifferent faces sitting with their newspapers didn't soothe the strange sensation for a moment. From experience, he knew better than to disregard his instincts; they were usually dead on. Sliwa kept close, directly at Sam's elbow, Kyle braced on Al's side, and others to the front and back. Even with the circle of firepower around them, Al kept his eyes open, suspicious of any and every movement.

With a feeling of empathy, Sam picked up on Al's apprehension, the older man's grip almost painful on his elbow. With all the adrenalin Al was putting out it would take forever to get him to relax later. Maybe they could take a long walk, or soak in the Jacuzzi, once they could go home. The simple thoughts of the house distracted him enough to slow his own racing pulse, just as he felt himself being grasped and pulled from Al's hands.

The scene suddenly blurred, time racing quickly past. Sam's face, startled, angry, annoyed, his cane falling to the floor, security reacting... Al shoved past the men as they gave chase, wild-eyed and shocked, seeing the black garbed men firing their weapons. Where the hell had they come from? Air gasping from his lungs, Al found himself on the floor, pressed and covered by Kyle, shots being fired from all directions and screams from innocent bystanders, suddenly startled out of their lethargy.

Silence. Moans and some shouts, for a doctor, an ambulance. Shoving out of Kyle's protection, Al came to a crouched position, his stricken look taking in the place, searching desperately for Sam. Several of the men who had taken him were lying dead, blood pooling under their bodies. Grimly, he realized it had been planned, neatly and cleanly, to take him here, where trouble wasn't expected. "Sliwa!" he snapped, turning as the Commander ran to him, the fury apparent in his dark obsidian eyes. "No excuses, no apologies. Seal every fucking inch of this place off. If anyone goes out an entrance I want them searched to their shorts. Get me a phone, now!"

With shaking hands belying his status as commanding officer, Al dialed White Sands, ordering troops, doing what he'd been trained to do. The moment he was off the phone, assured that men were on their way, he took command of the search, knowing full well every second wasted was moments that Sam could be taken further away. A man in an airport security uniform, looking pensive and not used to such happenings in the sleepy terminal, came as ordered. "No flights, no landings. This place is sealed."

"I'm not authorized..."

"I don't care, or give a fuck." Al used the language to his advantage, seeing the desired effect in the watery blue eyes. "I'm Admiral Calavicci and Dr. Sam Beckett has been taken by some fanatics, or god knows what. This airport is out of business until he's found. Do I make myself clear?"

In command mode, Al was terrifying to behold. Inside, he was having a heart attack, feeling every vestige of his life fall away like a bad dream. His fingers still could sense Sam's touch, the anger in the kid's eyes as he'd been dragged away. There'd been a struggle, he noted, with some satisfaction, half-seeing, before being flung to the floor, Sam's struggles, kicking and lashing out at his abductors. He closed his eyes against the final glimpse he'd had of his friend, crumpling to the floor and being carried swiftly and efficiently away. Drugs, maybe, Al surmised, or a good blow to his head.

"Admiral?"

A gentle hand was gripping his shoulder; that guy, MacGruder-Kyle. He brushed away the concern, slipping easily, to his amazement, into control mode. "Is the place sealed?"

"Yes, sir. Completely. No flights, nothing in or out, except the troops you ordered. Their ETA should be in a half hour."

They were still here, in this place. The airport was large, but not big enough to hide, not now. That was small satisfaction. "Any prisoners?"

"One. The rest..." Kyle sighed. There was random controlled chaos going on around them, emergency teams hustling to take care of the dead and wounded. "He's not talking, Admiral. This one has an Eastern accent; possibly Arabic or Islamic. We can't be sure. Stubborn and fanatical."

"I want every ambulance that leaves this place secured before it can go. I don't give a shit. I'm going to start searching, and I need - a squad. Now." His eyes turned to slits, hands clenching as he spoke. "Let's go see this guy."

The calm gaze was unexpected. Dressed completely in black, the eighteenish man stared at the Admiral with defiance. One of the EMT's was bandaging his shoulder where he'd been hit by the security team's rifle, but he didn't seem to feel pain.

"Your people can't get out of this one, pal." Al was used to this type, having seen enough of his type in the years he'd spent with Naval Security. There was always a crack to dig in, but with these fanatic types, if that was what he was, it was nearly impossible to dig anything from them. "The place is sealed. What did you think you'd accomplish? Three of your bunch are lying dead, and the others aren't far behind."

"They are with God."

"Oh, really? Interesting. Then let me clue you in..." Al reached and grasped the man, jerking him from the EMT, pulling the wounded man nose to nose with him. There was no fear in the prisoners eyes, a smile faint on his lips, dark mustache turning up at the edges, as if mocking him. "This isn't going to work. One way or the other, we'll find your friends, and no one gets out of here alive."

"Beckett is sentenced to die. We no longer need him. He is not a prisoner." The words chilled Al to his bones. "He played with the laws of God, and time and, now..."

It took every bit of control Al had to keep from breaking the quietly insane face in front of him. His fingers itched to break bone. "They've killed him already? Is that what you're saying?"

"He has only a few hours to make his peace. I will tell you no more."

Reaching out, Al snapped the medallion from around the man's neck, his eyes widening and glassing over at the symbol on it. A fanatically religious

organization, responsible for bombings, murder and mayhem, all in the name of God. They'd been among the numbers that had threatened Sam's life, more than once. Suddenly Al grew very cold, knowing he'd flagged some of those letters, disregarding them, or putting them in the 'caution' pile, for attention later.

Dropping the necklace into Sliwa's hands, he made a mumbling excuse about needing to use the bathroom and hurried into the quiet place, locking the stall behind him. There was no time for this, he argued. Sam was somewhere in the airport, with only a few hours to live. Think. Soon, there'd be hundreds of men searching, tearing every brick down, if they could. This group had probably planned for that contingency, placing his friend in a part of the building or section that wouldn't make for an easy game of hide and seek. If he only had hours to live, he could have bomb wired near him or on him; that seemed the best possibility, which would mean a mass evacuation, in any case.

"Bombs?"

"Looks like it." Al moved constantly, not being able to stand still for a moment. "Our friend there said there was a time limit on his life, and that spells some kind of device, possibly wired to explosives. He said hours, plural, meaning more than one. Two or three, or four." Ignoring the admiration stealing over Sliwa's face, he turned to where the search teams were gathering. "We're going to tear this place apart. The terrorists might be disguised as civilians, and I don't really care. Get these civilians out. Any number of them could be people that know where Sam is, and I want everyone questioned. It doesn't matter how long it takes, or who's inconvenienced."

"Yes, sir." Sliwa went quickly to implement the order, noticing the fresh troops arriving, some joining the search team, others to assist his group. One last glance towards the Admiral made him pause. His outward appearance was all business, giving orders, checking the blueprints of the terminal, concentration complete on the airport director as he spelled out schematics. There was a tremble in the stiff shoulders, underlying worry. He'd worked for years with Dr. Beckett, and he could tell there was a friendship there that he went beyond the boundary of a professional relationship. He'd seen the glances exchanged between the two men, without words expressing a feeling or instinct. One thing was for sure; if Dr. Beckett wasn't found, and died, the Admiral would grieve, and never recover from the loss.

Couldn't move. Darkness, confined. Sam slowed his heartbeat, knowing full well he'd been taken, dragged away, his last cognizant sight of Al being pulled to the floor, screaming his name. There had been a sharp stab of pain in his arm, followed by darkness; then, this. He had no idea if he'd been taken elsewhere, but he felt that Al was near, desperately searching, worried out of his mind, but not giving up. The only real thing he could sense was an uncomfortable itch; something small and light fastened to his nose, the faintest brush of air filtering in, keeping him alive. Trying to lift his hands, he felt lead weight on either side, possibly a side effect of what he'd been given. Thank God, he could still think. Trying to call out was futile, as if his vocal chords were frozen, just as much as his limbs were. Proper compounds, administered by professionals, could induce paralysis. He couldn't panic. Obviously, he was in some kind of confinement that denied him air, which explained the respirator they had him on. Either his time was limited, or his captors would return before his air ran out.

Sleep, he thought, would save air. Respiratory system closing down, needing less oxygen. Closing his eyes made little difference; it was so dark, not a chink of light to soothe him. He had no doubt in his mind that he'd be found in time. If he could move his legs, he'd try to kick his way out of his prison, free himself and surprise the hell out of Al when he managed to get back to him. As it stood, he was a prisoner, and he had to remain calm til help came.

Fifteen cups of coffee; he'd kept count. Black, no cream, destined to give him trouble later, Al thought, blearily scanning the newest area of the search. Two hours had passed of fruitless hunting for one elusive Beckett, and he was beginning to wonder if the terrorists had managed to slip past with him. The very idea made him go cold inside. Without being aware of it, someone brought him a chair and made him sit. Sliwa. He gave the man a grateful look, shaking his head at the food offered, not interested in eating at this point, not until they found Sam.

"I'll spell you for a while, Admiral, if you like." Sliwa's expression was concerned, noting quickly the man was working himself into one good collapse before this day was out.

"No, I'll be fine." Bristling at the very offer, Al kept his anger inside, knowing the man was only concerned about his outward physical state. He must look like hell. Admiral Calavicci wouldn't allow someone to take over any operation he was in charge of. "Status?"

"The airport is evacuated and we're undergoing interrogation of the prisoner and civilians. A few are pissed, but... for the most part they're all pretty reasonable about the situation. The one prisoner we do have isn't talking, demanding to see a lawyer now, and smiling." Sliwa gritted his teeth, the very memory of the annoying gesture making him cringe. From the look in the Admiral's eyes he could tell that set him off in the very same way. "He seems pretty confident that we won't find Dr. Beckett, but I assure you, Admiral, we will."

"He's missing, and probably injured." His voice was soft, pain laced. "You might want to have some medical personnel standing by, when we find him." Sighing, he forced himself to his feet, feeling every bone in his body crack into placement. "I'm having men check every corner, every bit of scaffolding in this place. If he's here, we'll find him, or..." The dark eyes turned pitch black. "Die with him."

"Admiral?"

The female voice made the man pause, turning to confront Verbena Beeks. "What are you doing here?"

"I got in; knowing some of the security people helps. I thought I was needed here. Swann is on his way."

"Great, the whole gang." Wiping his hand over his forehead, he gazed blearily up into the concerned face of his friend. He brushed past her outstretched hands, mind centered on finding Sam, and little else. "I appreciate it, Dr. Beeks."

"Al, you haven't called me that in four years." She hustled to keep her pace with the Admiral's smooth gait. "I heard what happened, and that Sam's condition had regressed. Would you please slow down for a moment?"

"I don't have time for this," Al growled, turning on her, furious and shaking. "Sam doesn't. They put a time limit on his life. Tore him out of my hands like nothing. Nothing." His fists clenched, trying vainly to force back the tears that threatened. Tearing away, he shoved the door of the bathroom wide, tearing into the private place to catch himself before he fell apart in front of his men; couldn't afford that, not now.

Warm arms circled him from behind. The reflection in the mirror betrayed Verbena's presence. "You need a friend about now. Care to talk about it?"

"After we find Sam I'll give you an earful. Why would anyone want to kill him? You're thinking that. These cold bastards think he defied God. If you could have only seen what he did, the things he changed and people he helped..."

"I saw it all. With your words, and how proud you are of him, now."

"Thank you for not speaking of him in the past tense. You should really get out of here, though. He... they might have a bomb in here. So far the dogs haven't found anything; we're using every available method, but..." He glanced at the door, knowing he was needed and not able to do much more than think about searching. "I have to go."

"I know. Just so you won't worry, I'll be outside, with the team. You'll find him, Al. I'm counting on it."

Inwardly, Al wished he could be so confident. The time for more painful thoughts would come later, after it was over.

Men were scrutinizing every inch of terminal, air ducts, the works. The more obvious places had been the first searched, and with every familiar spot they passed, Al felt despair twinge his gut. The loading area had been glanced over, every item invoiced and searched, finding nothing. Al stood in the middle of stacks of waiting luggage and boxes, eyeing each one, wondering what they could have missed. The team, with dogs and infrared, were on their third circle of the area, and it seemed, he thought, with a pang, that they might have possibly taken Sam into the desert somewhere. The sun was especially hot today, from the glimpse he'd gotten from the windows. That would be their next plan, but with thousands of miles of desert around them, it seemed more than futile.

He found himself wandering around the area, rechecking the list he'd been provided by the airport manager. Mostly outgoing passenger luggage, and what had been loaded on board aircraft had been pulled and searched, as well. Damn it, they were missing something. That little nudge that told him Sam was near, and not outside of this building, persisted.

"We're finished here. Admiral."

"Uh, yeah." This room, something. . .and he felt that Sam was running out of time with every moment that passed. "One more time, gentlemen." Stuffing his hands in his pockets he scanned the large room again, wondering what was making him so persistent about this particular area, ignoring the comments of the squad as they once again rechecked vouchers, hoping to find something to placate the Admiral.

Damn. He'd ran into the large rectangular cargo box more than once this day, veering around to look at the large containers in the back. The top had been torn off, to check the contents and make sure it was what the invoice said. A coffin. Al sighed, shivering away from the grisly object and it's contents. A man, on route to Kentucky, his family probably at this moment having a major conniption. He and the airport manager had not unsealed the thing, and Al felt that was best. If there was one thing the Admiral hated, it was a dead body. No logical explanation for it, unless you counted that night in the Camp, and the VC dumping Sonny's body in with him. Three weeks in the jungle, keeping company with a corpse, was enough to put anyone off it for a while.

And yet... Al turned, frowning. It seemed that the interior of the thing had not been searched. Certainly the contents were verifiable; death certificate, photos, coroner report. "Kyle?"

The younger man was at his shoulder in a moment. He eyed the coffin, then turned to the Admiral with a confused expression crossing his face. "You don't think...?"

"Possible. We can't exclude a thing, here. Open it up."


	18. Chapter 18

"Wait a minute!" That dogging little man, the manager of this place, Mr. Kenmei, hustling over. "I can understand a bomb, and all the alternatives, but that cargo is scheduled to leave in three hours and it's been here since last night. My personnel can verify it does contain a body, a quite deceased one. Before we put it in the casing it's checked, thoroughly."

"Maybe not enough." Al turned his quiet, deadly gaze to the little man. "Unseal it or I'll do it myself. I'll take the responsibility."

"It's airtight, Admiral," Kenmei said helpfully. "No one could possibly live in there. If we're talking a kidnapping..."

"Would you please just shut up?" Turning to Kyle, he sighed. "Do it."

With his fingertips, Kyle checked the smooth surface for any sign of wires or triggering devices. It had been his specialty once, before he was asked to join the elite squad. "Seems clear. Admiral." Resting the heels of his hands against the lid, he eased it up, feeling the seals give as he did so.

It was a body, of a stranger. Al felt his legs grow weak at the sight, tears of disappointment springing into his eyes briefly as Kyle cleared the last bit of packing material from the dead man's face.

"Sir?"

"Just close it up, Kyle. Just..."

"No - look!" Kyle knelt on the floor, tearing away bits of the crate that surrounded the coffin. "It just seems too big...as if..."

Under the guard's fingers, the false panel dropped open, handles hitting the floor like shots. "Christ, get out of my way!" Al shouted, grasping and easing Sam from the grisly thing, instinctively placing two fingers to the sweat damp skin of his throat. No pulse, he frantically thought, gasping. There was a bottle of oxygen that fell to the floor, sounding empty, and a tube leading from it attached to Sam's nose. It hadn't been a bomb, but certainly timed death.

"I know CPR, Sir." Kyle assisted Al in pulling Sam out, and immediately bent to revive the unconscious man. He worked without stopping, professionally, and efficiently, aware of the Admiral's razor sharp fear emanating from every pore.

Barely aware of the rush of personnel entering the room, Al kept his hand tightly around Sam's wrist, waiting and praying for the tiny vibrations that meant life. His friend's face was dead white, hair plastered to his head from sweat, confined in the tiny compartment for three hours, still wearing the sweater and slacks he'd worn on the flight. There, he thought, head lifting, something, a sign, slow beating under his touch, skin warming, the rise and fall of breath.

Kyle backed away from the man, gazing from Al to his 'patient'. "I think he'll make it. He must've just run out of air."

"He's alive." The words were breathed, barely audible. He reached up and touched Sam's face, hoping his closeness would fully revive the man. Rewarded by the greenish eyes barely opening and a small smile, Al grinned back.

Trying to speak, Sam found he still couldn't, but not worrying about it very much. Al was here, touching him, and the nightmare was over. He'd felt the air cut off, and knew he didn't have long to live. His only thought had been of his friend, and what he'd go through after his death. Once again, he had another chance.

Chapter 11

"Sam? Can you hear me? We're home, kid."

Home? For a moment, the overhead light was too dazzling, and he blinked against it, vision clearing. Sam remembered hearing arguing voices for a while, taken from the confinement of the box, and then, unconscious, knowing nothing but the strong grip of a firm hand on his left shoulder. Trying to sit up someone settled him back into the pillow, tucking the blankets up around his chin. Al? "Where... this isn't home."

The greenish gaze was a little disoriented, which Al felt he could handle more than never seeing it again. "Waiting Room, Sam. Project QL, y'know. They wanted to take you to the trauma center, but Swann, Beeks, and I managed to fast talk out of that one. How're you feeling?"

"Fine." He sounded petulant, even to his ears, and tried to tone it down. "I want to go home. As in now."

"Overnight stay, and that's an order." Another familiar voice; Greg hovering over him, looking grave, with just the barest twinkle in the blue eyes. "You've been through hell and back today, friend. I did some tests while you were under."

Wide awake now, Sam shoved the blanket down. and sat up, heedless of his friend's worry. "You came back."

"The minute Swann called me with the news, I was on the next plane. This really took a toll on you. You've got a ways to go, mobility wise. I'm putting you on intense therapy immediately, soon as you get out of this place. Regular sessions, every day. No skipping. I've toned down the meds. Just do what you've been doing; take them when you're in pain and sleep. There's been no indication of any reaction from whatever those. . .well, what they knocked you out with. As far as we can figure, it was some kind of DMSO compound; froze all your motor functions temporarily, just long enough to keep you helpless for a few hours."

Turning his attention to Al, Sam noticed he was uncustomary quiet, subdued. He looked sick, completely worn through with worry, probably, among other things. Waiting for the others to leave, so they could talk. The room had suddenly grown cool; just Greg's mention of the incident in Alamagordo made him shiver. His last memory in that thing, gasping as the last vestiges of air rasped from the tank, then, gulping, choking, the sensation of being taken away, fully stolen from his body. Death. Moments later, the light, and Al's touch, the dark eyes so frightened and relieved at the same time.

"I'm taking him home."

Greg glanced down at the floor, just on the beginnings of shaking his head. "I don't know. Admiral," he began.

"Don't try and stop me this time. He's moving, right? Able to talk, speak for himself, or I miss my guess? I think he'd do a lot better back at the house in his own bed, as far as relaxing goes." More than anything, Al wanted the privacy there, just he and Sam, having exclusive responsibility for his care. In his arms, damn them, without interference.

"Where are my pants?" Sam glanced from Greg's uncertain face to his friend. "Take me home, please! I can't think here, not in this room."

"Sam - hear me out, okay?" Greg didn't want to push Al - he'd been civil with him since he'd realized he was back. "We haven't finished our tests, and I still..."

"And I've just spent the afternoon in a box just large enough to hold me, not being able to move or breathe, wondering if I'd make it." Sam's voice was growing stronger as he spoke, tossing the blankets off and gingerly lowering his legs over the edge of the bed. "I don't want to waste my evening in a place, a room I utterly hate."

"I can't fight both of you, and I won't try, at least not very hard. All I can ask is that I can stop in tomorrow, at the house, to check Sam out."

"I have to agree with them, Doctor." Verbena leaned against the doorway, adding her own two cents, as usual. "A stabilization is in order, and if Sam wants to go home, and he's able to, he should. I would suggest that you have security reinforce their patrols, and clear what reporters are gathered before you leave. Thank goodness you two built that place within jurisdiction of the base or you'd be stuck here for good. Man, are those guys persistent."

"You have no idea," Al commented dryly, slanting his tired gaze towards Sam. There was a connection there that had only been reinforced by the events of the afternoon. He couldn't wait to get home and let go with the only person he trusted, to see the emotions that were welling up inside of him, begging to be released.

"You're not looking too good, yourself, Admiral," Greg said, making Sam's head snap up. "I'd suggest you prepare to be checked over tomorrow, as well."

"I'll arrange for the car, Sam." His dark look was for his friend only, ignoring Matthew's recommendation, voice dragging with weariness. "And security. If the reporters come within a mile of the house I'll have them shot on sight."

"More bad news." Verbena placed one restraining hand against Al's chest as he attempted to leave. "I wanted to warn you, before you take one more step out there. Weitzman and...well, Senator Brandenburg arrived some time ago, when word leaked about what happened, and..."

Before she could say one more word, Al was out the door, brushing past her, seeing nothing but red, oblivious to Sam's shout. Brandenburg, he thought, striding towards his office.

"Pants!" Sam snatched the clothing from Greg's hands allowing the doctor to help him get the slacks over his legs. The moment he had them securely over his hips, he pushed off the bed and crumpled to the floor, wincing.

"Should've warned you about that." With Verbena's help, he assisted Sam to his feet, settling him back onto the edge of the mattress. "Aftereffects of that compound. You won't be able to walk very well for a few days. I'll send for a chair you can use until..."

"Make it quick." Sam gripped the sheets under his hands, knowing full well what his friend would and could do to Brandenburg, especially after today. "I don't care, as long as it isn't permanent." He turned to Verbena. "Get down the hall, and keep Al away from the Senator as long as you can, at least until I'm able to be with him."

"You think I can control the Admiral?" Her dark eyes widened. "No way, bud." Sighing, she ran to comply with her friend's wishes.

The wheelchair was produced, and Sam slid into it without complaint. It was motorized, and he knew the controls well from the last time he'd been confined in one, brief as that time had been. The moment he was settled in, and presentable, he tore out of the room, towards where he could tell a full tilt battle royal was going on.

"I did my best, Sam!" Hands over her ears, she gestured with her elbows toward the closed door of Al's office. "I'm not responsible for this."

Half to himself, Sam muttered, "Oh, boy," tearing into Al's office with as much steam as he could muster. To his wide eyed amazement, the scene was calm, Al pouring coffee, two men seated behind his desk. The tall, Lincolnesque one was Weitzman, Ronnenburg the balding man with the hangdog expression, mouth pulled down in a perpetual sour look. As he entered, the Admiral's head turned for a moment, the hard gaze softening at the sight of the younger man in the chair. Ice a second later, and Sam knew no amount of pleading would keep his friend from doing what he wished.

"Dr. Beckett?" The senator nodded at the physicist. "I'm pleased to finally meet you."

"You almost had him killed this afternoon." Al's quiet words were laced with danger. Sam winced at the tone, hoping his presence alone would cool the rising flames. "Nice little publicity machine you've got running. Here's your coffee." With one neat turn of his wrist, Al dumped the lukewarm liquid into the Senator's crotch, and swung with his free hand, knocking him cleanly off his chair and onto the floor.

Jumping from the chair, Weitzman stared, gaping at the Admiral. In his gaze was a mixture of amazement and pleasure; it was no secret that he disliked the Senator, and only tolerated him for the sake of the Project.

"I'll have your commission. Admiral!" Holding one hand to his cheek, a bruise growing, purple and green under his fingers. "You'll never serve in the military or on this base again."

"Try it." Stiffening, Al turned with as much dignity as he could manage. "I'll spread it around about how you crippled Dr. Sam Beckett by forcing us to bring him back prematurely. Others will back me on it."

"I for one," Weitzman said quickly, tossing caution to the winds. "I've witnessed your statements to reporters, causing all this...this, mess. Just this afternoon...well, if it wasn't for the publicity, Dr. Beckett would've enjoyed his vacation in Canada without incident, and avoided the situation that occurred."

From his vantage point in the chair, Sam remained silent, watchful. For a second, his eyes met Ronnenburg's catching a trace of guilt in the silted gaze. Wheeling over, he offered his right hand to the Senator, assisting him upright. "I think you'd better leave. You had your reasons to come, and I appreciate your concern, but since it's not sincere, and might win you a re-election, get out of my Project."

As he turned to leave, Ronnenburg flashed a vicious look at Calavicci. "This isn't over, Admiral. As for you, Mr. Weitzman, I'll be expecting your resignation on my desk Monday morning." There was a threat in his voice, unspoken, that, seemingly, only Sam perceived. He swept out of the office, bristling in rage.

"I guess I'm out of a job," the tall man said, shrugging. He made no move to follow the Senator. "Can't say I'm feeling bad about it."

"You'll stay here. We'll find something to keep you occupied." Al wiped his suit with a napkin, blotting at the worst of the coffee stains that dotted his clothing. "Permanent press liaison. Seems we'll need one of those for a while."

"Well. I'd better go cool the good Senator off." Weitzman's face was one large grin. "All we need now is him going to the press." Just as the door opened, he turned. "And I'll tell him to accept my resignation. You both have the weekend off; we'll deal with the press then. Bright and early Monday morning, gentlemen."

As the door locked behind the departing Weitzman, Sam wheeled over to his friend, concerned at the way his hands shook as he poured himself a drink; whiskey, neat. "Al..."

"Don't ask if I'm all right, Sam." Tossing the drink down his throat, Al was satisfied at the way the burning liquid warmed him. "I aged twenty years this afternoon, and that bastard...you can't blame me for plowing him one."

"That's fine." Wheeling over, Sam reached up and took the glass from Al, setting it on the desk. Their eyes met, green to dark intense gaze. "You couldn't have held me any tighter," Sam said quietly. "It couldn't be avoided. I'm safe now, away from that place. You found me in time, didn't you?"

"Barely." The older man's voice dropped to a whisper, turning from his friend to gaze at the desktop, clenching his hands around the edge. "I...I don't know if you can depend on me for that again, Sam. Damn it, it came on so quick, like a flash, and then, it was over. You were gone. For a while, I could cover everything under command, but I lost it a few times. Every time I tried to think about you, I shoved it away, not until we had you back, alive, then I could breathe again. Sam, if you'd been dead..."

"Don't think about that." Firmly, the younger man reached around his lover, pulling the slim waist close. "I didn't think about fear, or anything but what you were going through. No way would I have traded places with you; there's this thing inside of me that keeps the demons at bay, the ones that sometimes make me angry, or out of control. I don't think I could've kept myself in check if you'd been the one they took."

"I'm not going to get drunk tonight, Sam. Once we get home, I want you to need me, and I'm going to hold you close, and bask in that. You'll have to indulge me. No, I'm saving a good lousy wino scene for when you're well enough to join me. 'Nuff said." Straightening, he tugged down his well-rumpled jacket. "Let's go home."


	19. Chapter 19

All reporters had been cleared from the house. By the time the security men left them at the door, and made sure the place was clear, both men were dead exhausted. Carefully, Al closed every curtain, making sure all doors and windows were locked. Sam watched with a bemused expression, feeling his eyes growing heavy. Aside from hunger, he was so sleepy he could crash in the wheelchair without a worry in the world.

Half-asleep, Sam was jolted from his lethargy as hands tugged at his sweater. Crying out, he snapped away, opening his eyes to confront Al's totally devastated face.

"I'm sorry, Sam. God." Swallowing hard, Al swept every bit of his shaking friend into his arms, holding him close until the final tremblings ceased. With his fingers, he petted the solid back, the nubbly material of the top warmed from Sam's body, smelling of sweat and fear. "Never again," he said, brushing his lips against Sam's hair. "I'm going to take care of you. If it gets this bad again, we'll leave together, alone, just disappear." His voice was breaking and Al didn't care, knowing there was no one else to hear his emotion except the person he loved and trusted the most. No more than that, though, he thought. I can't let him know how scared I really was. "What say I run you a hot bath?"

"I'll fall asleep in it, Al." Sam chose to try to forget his fear at awakening, not wanting to make Al feel any guilt about the incident. "Like the last time."

"I hardly think so, if I tell you not to. Just a quick soak this time, to wash off the dirt from this..." Al's voice tapered off at the end of the sentence, one hand clenching Sam's arm, the other coming up to cover his face against the flow of tears. His throat was so clogged he felt he might explode at any moment, and wondered if Sam was in any shape to tolerate such an outburst.

"Al?" An gentle hand brought the older man's head up, Sam's palm covering his cheek for a moment, a light smile tilting at the corners of his mouth. "Oh, Al, it's okay. Really. Maybe I've been seared in the heat of things like this before. Nothing could be worse than Havenwell, or being held by a crazy woman and her husband, and not being able to touch you again. This time, at least, I knew you weren't a hologram. You were real out there, looking for me, and I didn't have a doubt that I'd be found."

"You don't need this, Sam. I can't do this in front of you."

"But I could cry on your shoulder, Al. There was no question about that."

Sam looked so vulnerable in the loose sweater, hair tousled, dark rings under his weary eyes. Beautiful, and alive. "Let's go run that bath, Sam." Brusquely, he wheeled the other man towards the bathroom, brushing aside the quelling tears that threatened his eyes.

Sighing, Sam laid back in the neck deep tub, closing his eyes.

"I'm going to let you soak for a while, and I'll start something for dinner." Finding no uneasiness in his friend, not one muscle tensing at his threatened absence, Al felt a modicum of relief wash over him. It didn't seem any of Sam's old patterns were repeating themselves.

True to her word, Verbena, who had been watching the house for them, had stocked the refrigerator with all the things to make simple meals. Smart lady, Al thought, and a good friend. Sam and he had chosen their staff well. Scrambled eggs for tonight, though, something very simple and filling, and maybe some kind of salad... He tossed the ingredients together for the meal, and turned the skillet down under the eggs, making sure all was ready before he returned to the bath.

There was an incredibly thoughtful expression on Sam's face as he entered, making him wonder what his friend had going on in his always working mind. Kneeling by the tub, he lifted the washcloth and set to scrubbing down the lax body, gently coaxing the younger man up so he could pay special attention to his back. Surprisingly, the muscles under his fingers were smooth, no knots, or pressure there. "You seem pretty comfortable, kiddo," he said softly, ignoring the splashing water drenching his wrinkled shirt.

"You're the one that's a mess." Sam turned his face to the other man, smiling softly at the sensation of the ministering hands. "That feels so good. Wish I could do the same for you."

"In a couple of days. Greg might be over tomorrow, and we have to start thinking about that press conference. We'll hold it at Administration; the center at White Sands, far from the Project. I don't want those nozzles in the place, sneaking around." A tinge of fury was in his words as he spoke, his hands sweeping roughly around the edges of Sam's damp hair. "Christ knows what those bastards could turn over if we let them in there."

"What will we be allowed to tell them?"

"Not much, Sam." Sighing, Al settled back on his haunches, fingers clenching the dripping cloth in his one hand, supporting the younger man with the other. "I'm getting a few clues, though. Weitzman will be there, and he'll field questions, keep us from the worst of it, I guess. He's proving himself. People change, and he's really coming around. Nothing about Leaping, or taking over other's lives. I don't think we have any idea what kind of repercussions that would cause. Maybe later, when things settle down. There will be a flash after the conference, a week of hell, then we can only hope they'll back off."

"After today I think I can handle anything. All of it. Nothing seems to bother me."

"You want to talk about it?"

There was a tight sound to Al's voice, and Sam frowned, reluctant to remind the older man of what had occurred, wanting very much to put it behind him, but knowing his lover needed to talk, chum it out, and get the thing over with. "Let's eat first. I'm starved."

Once he'd gotten Sam out of the tub, Al assisted his friend into a worn pair of running pants. There was a minor protest on the younger man's part, but Al gently reminded him that they might possibly have company that night, and he didn't want to add any more rumors to the fire if someone should manage to slip past the secured line of men. There was the smallest flash of terror in the wide hazel eyes, instantly covered by a dip of the head.

"We'll have that for a while, Sam." Touching a fingertip to the other man's chin, he forced the expressive face to meet his gaze. "Not for long, and not forever."

At dinner, Al's hands itched to assist Sam, and kept the feeling at bay, knowing that every bit of control the other man had was his possession, and everything he could call his own was a triumph. He averted his gaze from the shaking fingers, eating every bit of food Al served him, and asking for a second helping. "You must be hungry."

"Yes, and tired beyond belief, but it's a good tired."

"I hate that expression," Al replied, setting his utensils on the plate and shoving it away from him. "There's no such thing, Sam."

"Sure there is, if you've earned it." With a frown he glanced at Al's half finished meal. "No appetite, and you must be at least..."

"Drop it." Slumping for a moment, Al touched his hand to his burning eyes. Food, at this point, half-nauseated him.

Sam was near exasperation, sighing heavily. "Will you please talk to me?"

"I guess I'll clear these up then," Al said, diverting from his lover's softly worded question. His very body was under the most careful of control, breathing in and out emotion, suddenly not wanting to burden or openly show it in front of the person he loved the most. God knows, the kid had been through enough today, without having to deal with that. It hurt to see the plea in Sam's eyes, and, maybe, someday, he thought, setting plates in the sink, maybe he could talk then.

"Al..."

"Enough, Sam." He bent and kissed the half-open mouth, finding himself get lost in the touch, smell, and feel of the other man. Desperately, he clung to him. tangling his hair in Sam's still damp curls, the soft lips moving beneath his, tongue Straying into his mouth. Sliding onto the younger man's lap, he held him close, finally breaking the embrace and gazing in peaceful satisfaction at the handsome face near his. "I'm fine, Sam. Really. You should be in bed."

"With you." The words were firm, suddenly very mobile arms easing around the man in his lap. "Especially tonight."

"Well, I need a shower." Smoothly, Al got up from his comfortable position, and turned the chair towards where the bed waited. "I'll make sure you're sacked out before I step one foot in the bathroom. You need your sleep."

Yawning so wide he nearly broke his face in half, Sam had to agree. He had to grin at the surprised look on his friend's face as he eased himself onto the bed. Certainly, his legs were pretty much dead weight, but he could use his arms with growing ease, especially his right one, pulling himself over the waterbed mattress. The surface was warm, and the sheets Al pulled over him were crisp and clean. With little effort, Sam closed his eyes, rolled over onto his stomach, and fell asleep.

Waiting until his friend was deeply asleep, Al went into the bathroom and took as steaming a shower as he could stand. The water was skin-ripping hot, and he stayed under it as long as he was able. It didn't relax him an iota, not an ounce. Half-stumbling out of the steam, he tripped over one of the towels Sam had used, left on the floor in his direct path. Jerking on his robe, he cursed at the mess, and tore the bath blanket from the floor. For a moment, he hesitated, then felt himself crumple, fingers gripping the damp velour, burying his face in it, the first of the grief he'd been holding in starting to break.

He bit back the screams that had been building since the moment Sam had been torn away from him in the terminal. Never comfortable with public or private displays of emotion, Al pressed his face against the towel, muffling the worst of the sounds, feeling every fiber of his being tremble painfully under the violent outburst. The sounds ripped his throat, drowning against the cloth beneath his mouth, fabric smelling of his lover and tears. All of it came out, every memory of the afternoon plying a fresh storm; Sam's furious expression, the man torn from his grasp, to the drenched and unconscious form nearly falling from his prison. The greatest fear, wondering if Sam was dead, and forcing away thoughts of what life would be like without him. That particular thought was black, and bottomless, only leading him to follow. Tonight, he'd even had to restrain his love for him, afraid it would lead to this outburst, and putting added strain on his already injured friend.

Somehow, he pulled himself together, managing to rinse his face with cold water from the sink, unable to erase the tearstains or the redness in the tired, brown eyes. Just out of the corner of his vision, he caught a hint of movement, a small sound, barely audible. He tore out of the bathroom, fear catching ' in his throat like broken glass. The bedroom was empty, the sheets and blankets tossed aside, wheelchair and Sam very much gone.

"Sam!" He cursed his stupidity, leaving the kid for a moment, to have him taken again... Skidding to stop, he saw the vacated wheelchair sitting near the computer, lone silhouette in the dining room. The rocker moved slowly, it's cargo slumped, one hand with fingers poised above bright eyes, half-lifting as he entered the room. Heart nearly beating out of his chest, Al gasped for breath, not knowing whether he wanted to impulsively crush the man to his chest, or beat the living daylights out of him!

Chin trembling, Sam held his right arm over his stomach, waiting for Al to make the next move. Sympathetic tears glistened on the smooth cheek, obvious signs that the younger man had sensed his friend's grief and craving for privacy. Suddenly, Al realized that was the wrong thing to do, that Sam needed him to show his pain, and give him the time to release, as well. They weren't two separate entities, as they had been before. He was as much a part of Sam as the heart that beat furiously in his own chest.

"You heard it all, didn't you?" Al asked softly, coming closer to the silent man. "I'm sorry I woke you, kid."

"Let me hold you, Al. Like you held me, when I needed it." The glistening eyes were a plea, begging for acquiescence. Without another word, Al felt himself ease onto Sam's lap, allowing the one strong arm to curl around him firmly. Burying his face into his friend's shoulder, he felt the tears and grief rise again, the scent of the kid's clean skin enough to set him into another emotional tailspin.

"It's okay, Al," Sam soothed, fingers brushing against the small hairs on the nape of the older man's neck. He kissed the wet cheeks, feeling the trembles pass through Al's body and shiver into his own. "It won't happen again, I promise you, love." The old rocker moved quietly back and forth as Sam let the comfortable chair do the easing that, he, in his current condition, couldn't completely provide. "I was scared, but not as much as you imagine. It was such a gift to see your face again; you know someone is still taking care of us, and wants things to be on an even keel. I just know that. I love you, and feel so safe, no matter what. I'm grateful to Kyle, for protecting you like he did. I saw all of it, everything until they drugged me. The only comfort I had was knowing you wouldn't get shot. That may sound so selfish..." His mouth tightened at the way Al's arms wrapped around him, so tight he could barely take a breath, but didn't complain. "I wasn't worried so much about the others, just you. Christ, I thought you'd dash out and die, your last glimpse of me being dragged away, and that..." Blinking furiously, he gave into the tears that threatened the entire day. He'd shed few, but not so much that he held inside.

Al rubbed his damp cheek against the slightly furred chest, comforted by the warm skin under his face, and the low voice speaking every word of love that he could imagine. He felt emptied of anger, and grief, just held and loved in a way he'd never allowed before. It actually felt wonderful, to be rocked and cared for like a child, in the arms of the only person he trusted in the world.

"You seem to be enjoying this," Sam grinned, surprised and pleased. "My grandmother used to rock me like this. She died when Katie was only four." His fingers stroked through Al's hair as he spoke. "When we sold the farm. Mom held this aside for me, knowing it meant something, good memories, and she said I always should have this, to remember Grandma Nettie by."

The gentle words were putting Al to sleep, making his heavy eyes close. So warm and secure. "Damn!" Sighing, he shook the intense desire to doze off, and eased off of Sam's lap. "Sorry, kid," he said, in answer to his friend's disappointment. "You need your rest, too."

Once Sam was settled, Al quickly switched off the bathroom light that filtered in and slipped into the other side of the bed. With a frown, he noted the quick intake of breath that followed the moment the room was plunged into darkness.

"Turn..on..the..light!" With the blanket tucked over his body, and the near pitch blackness of the curtained room, Sam felt things close in on him, a painful reminder of what he'd tried so hard to thrust to the back of his mind.

"No problem," Al said gently. He switched the bathroom light on and cracked the door. Silently, he padded across the carpet to the bed, sliding over and holding the trembling form close. "Nothing to be ashamed of, Sam," he said quietly, pressing his body against the other man. "I had a few nights like this, when I came home. Hated the dark, thought I'd get over it alone."

"I wasn't expecting that, you know," Sam said, his tone a bit sheepish. "It was so dark, nothing. That was the only problem..."

"And breathing, and worrying..." Al snuggled in, wrapping his arms around Sam's chest. "I'll make it up to you, kid, I promise."


	20. Chapter 20

Chapter 12

Knocking. With a grimace, Al turned over in bed and scowled at the digital. Eleven a.m. Glancing over at his resting friend, it was obvious Sam wasn't going to wake up either easy or soon. The visitor was persistent, rapping his knuckles off.

Snatching up his robe, Al padded to the front door, wondering who on Earth could be bothering them. His mind still was foggy about the day before, and he knew security had specific instructions to not disturb them unless it was an absolute emergency. Without hesitation, he grabbed the pistol he'd hidden near the entrance, holding it tight in his hand. Throwing the door wide, his dark eyes met blue: Greg?

"Lovely morning, to you too, Admiral." There was no shake or fear in the therapist's voice; he'd expected that kind of reaction from the overly protective man. "I said I was coming this morning!"

"I thought you'd have the good decency to call first!" Heart pumping in his ears, Al turned, allowing the other man to enter the house. Placing the gun down on the kitchen counter, Al breathed in once, eyes askance at Greg. "Sam's asleep."

"I'm not surprised. I tried calling, but your phone..."

"I turned it off." With an uncomfortable grin, Al wandered over and switched the cellular's power on. "He needed his rest. We had a shit of a day yesterday."

"Heard."

Al' s head snapped up at the anger and tightness in the usually breezy therapist's voice. "We were up pretty late."

"I'm sorry I just showed up like this," Greg said apologetically. "Security knew me and allowed access right away. I wanted to take a look at Sam; sometimes the therapist knows more than the doctor. It's not that I don't agree with Swann's prognosis, but I figured if we could get him started on his work right away he'd be better prepared for the press conference." Greg followed the other man into the kitchen as Al prepared coffee. "You look wiped."

"I'm not your business. Sam is. Sam's health, that is." Al caught himself short of slamming the pot onto the coffee maker. "You, uh, think you can get him back on his feet in forty-eight hours?"

"I'll do my best." The tension between he and the Admiral was thick enough to cut like butter. "Is that when it's scheduled?"

"After yesterday, they decided to give Sam another day or two to recover. Nice of them."

"I heard about the Senator. Good for you."

"Pure idiocy. So, I lost myself a little." Arching a dark eyebrow, Al shrugged. "I'm going to jump in the shower. Help yourself to the coffee when it's ready. Sam should be up soon."

Greg sat down on one of the stools that circled the kitchen and decided to wait. The Admiral hadn't been exactly warmly receptive to his arrival, but he didn't feel unwelcome, either. There was a stack of mail on the counter in front of him, a notebook with some kind of list, and the gun. The last item gave him a peculiar feeling, saddened that it had come to that; worrying so much about their privacy that the Admiral would resort to protecting it with a weapon.

The house had a different feel to it since his last visit. That had been nearly two months ago; most of the therapy sessions with Sam had been held at the Project, in between updating Ziggy and correlating the Leap material. He couldn't quite put a finger on the atmosphere here, but something was definitely changed.

The cellular purred, just as Al strode from the bathroom, resplendent in most of his uniform. It seemed he was ready for any contingency, and, from the expression on his face, the Admiral wasn't about to take any shit. Greg did his best to not eavesdrop, but couldn't avoid seeing the death-like mask that fell over the Admiral's face.

"I'll be at the base in fifteen minutes," Al said, voice stiff with control. He set the cellular down on the table and straightened his collar. With all of his heart he'd wanted to spend this day with Sam Beckett, but it seemed circumstances, once again, would prevent that. Greg's questioning gaze seemed to go through him. The least little thing would set him off today, he thought, and he should take special care to think before speaking.

"Doesn't look like good news," Greg commented, stiffening at the icy look in Al's eyes.

"Not the best, but, lately nothing is." Tugging his collar together, Al once again realized how much he hated the damned thing. "Look," he said, pouring himself a quick Cup Of coffee. "Sam is still asleep. They need me at the base, sort of figured they would after yesterday." The moment Al put the uniform on he felt less of a friend to people and more like their commanding officer. It felt strange to speak to Greg without sounding authoritative. The coffee was bitter; he'd added too many grounds in his haste to make it. "I should be back in a couple of hours. He's got some mobility problems, needs help around, and I don't know what kind of mood he'll wake up in."

"No problem, Admiral." Greg sipped at the brew he'd offered him, making a face. "My day is free, and I really want Sam to swim or just work out a bit before I leave."

"Your Sunday." Sighing, Al glanced toward the bedroom, wondering if he should say goodbye to Sam personally and vetoed it, not wanting to deprive him of one moment of rest. Last night it had taken literally hours to make him fall asleep and what he managed to grab today would do him a world of good.

"I wasn't in the mood to sit around watching ball games."

"They're sending a car, thinking, I suppose, that I can't negotiate the obstacle course out there." Wincing inwardly, Al didn't savor the thought of those newshounds barking at him as he drove past. It was a necessary evil; soon the whole mess would be over. Turning back to Greg, Al wondered what he could say to him. "About what happened before..."

"Forget it. I got the break I needed and all I'm worried about is Sam's welfare - and nothing else, Admiral."

Locking the door behind the Admiral, per his instructions, Greg watched through the curtains as the car from the base took him to work. Wandering around the house, having a second cup of that awful coffee, glancing at the titles in the bookshelves, took up some of the time waiting for his patient to wake. He avoided the bedroom, not wanting to disturb Sam. After his ordeal it wasn't odd for him to want to sleep the day away. Settling on the comfortable couch with a book seemed to be the best way to pass the day away.

A sound from the bedroom made him pause, setting the book on the coffee table and hurrying to check on Sam. The man was sitting up in bed, looking bewildered and lost for a moment, glancing up and frowning as Greg entered the room. "Where's Al?" he asked, in a voice dragged with sleep.

"Had to go to the base." Greg brought the wheelchair over, pleased when Sam lowered his legs gingerly over the edge of the bed and levered himself into it. "Seems you have things pretty much in control here."

"I'm trying, damn it." He smiled a moment, apologetic. "Sorry. I was sort of hoping to wake up with Al...Uh, I mean...well you know," he added, sounding lame and trying vainly to cover up his fax paus.

"I know exactly what you mean." Greg decided quickly to overlook the little slip, figuring it was really none of his business. If anything, Al's continued presence in Sam's life was doing good for him. "He seemed a little disappointed, himself, but said it couldn't be helped. Good thing I showed up. You want a shower or. . . ?"

"I can handle that," Sam grinned, wheeling into the bath. "Hit the kitchen and whip something up. I'll be there in a minute."

To Greg's dismay, there was little in the way of food geared towards building up his patient. The yogurt was stuffed in the back of the fridge, as if trying to hide from Admiral-like eyes. Just like Beckett. The freezer was chock full of ice cream, low fat, but junk, nonetheless. The best thing right now was a high protein, low fat diet for both Sam and Al, who had blithely ignored his instructions. He'd assumed the coffee was decaffeinated, but realized by the way he was feeling, it wasn't.

He made do with available materials, never much of a chef, but attempting some kind of culinary invention. It wouldn't hurt too much to stray off the diet today. Cereal seemed the best bet, corn flakes, fruit, some juice.

Eyeing him suspiciously, Sam wheeled into the room, glancing at the breakfast set on the table. "I usually have a cup of tea, and some toast."

"You need more than that, and don't tell me I sound like your mother." The barest tracing of darkness touched Sam's face, disappearing instantly as the man dug into his bowl of corn flakes. "I noticed a few things you shouldn't be indulging in. "

Making a face, Sam dropped his spoon into the cereal. "There's no sugar on this. I'm not picking, mind you, but I can't stand the stuff without it."

"No refined sugar. There are substitutes." Greg sat across from his friend, starting on his own breakfast. "You'll just have to make do for now."

"Did Al say what he had to do?" A small frown appeared on his face, just the barest worry niggling at him.

Greg could sense the other man's tension. "Press conference preparation. That's why I'm here; to get you in shape for it, making sure you're ready to face them when the time comes."

"In a day or two." Suddenly Sam felt his appetite fade away. He nibbled at his toast, unable to choke down the bland flakes, now sogged down in the milk. "It's going to be hard to face the media, even if the questions are prepared, and the answers preordained."

"You and Al will manage. Everyone at the Project is behind you both. Think of it as a dentist's appointment. Once it's over, you don't have to worry about it for another year or so."

Grinning, Sam accepted Greg's words. Maybe he was making a mountain out of a molehill. Suddenly, he was anxious to get out in the sun, work those aching kinks from his legs and back. Even though he still had limited mobility, he was better off than he had been last night. He jumped at the sound of the phone, glancing at it anxiously before wheeling over and picking the instrument up. "Hello?"

Greg winced, remembering that the Admiral had asked him to turn it off. From the expression on Sam's face it wasn't good news. He watched pensively from the table, watching the emotions fall across the other man's face, light and dark.

"Tom. I'm fine, really." Sam winced at the tone in his overanxious brother's voice. "It was no one's fault! You can't believe what the media is saying now. We're..." Face reddening, Sam's lips tightened, furious and growing weary of Tom's continuous and unrelenting criticism of Al. "You had no right to call... It's his business to keep his patient's condition confidential. There's nothing wrong, not a damned..." His eyes shut tightly at another enraged outburst from the other end of the conversation. "Don't cut me off! I'm not stupid, or brain-dead, not yet. Goodbye!" He set the phone down on the table, and resting his hand on it for a moment before turning his gaze back to Greg.

"Tom Beckett, the last of the mother hens."

"He has nothing on Al." Furiously, he swung away from the phone, eyes sparking with anger. "I'm sick to death of Tom's attitude towards him. Al's been trying, but he has his moments, too. They just don't get along. One thing I can't stand is my own brother blaming my best friend for yesterday. If he says something like that to Al it'll absolutely mess him up."

"The Admiral can handle it, Sam. Think about Ronnenburg."

With a grin, Sam shook his head. "They haven't come to blows, not yet. Tom's threatening to come down here, but he won't because the farm is nearly blocked in by reporters." Sighing, he tried to shove aside the anger that was building in him. Between his brother and anxiety over the press conference, he was a bomb ready to explode. "Let's go swimming."


	21. Chapter 21

The fresh, sun-filled water revitalized Sam to the point where most of the furious restlessness he was feeling faded away. He waved away the chair as he pulled himself out, managing to stumble his way across the tiled walkway to the lounge. Giving his pleased doctor a tired grin, he flopped over onto his stomach, worn out, but at peace for the first time in days. "I did good," he gasped, burying his face in the vinyl pillow as Greg pressed his hands along his thighs and back, professionally massaging spasming muscles.

"Better than great, really." It was hard to be unemotional when it came to this particular patient. "You always seem to be a step ahead of the prognosis. I'm of the mind to take that chair away."

"Take it. I'll use both canes for a while." Sam relaxed under the ministrating hands, closing his eyes blissfully. "God, you're nearly as good as Al. He's the best at this..."

"Maybe it's none of my business." Greg crouched by the lounge, hands hanging loosely between his knees. "There's a different feel to this place. We had this conversation a while back, about my friend Mark." Sam's intense gaze was meeting his, listening to every word he said. "You get a feeling from a home, whether the people living there are roommates or, well, a couple. It can be a good sensation, or bad, depending on the relationship." Shaking his head slowly, Greg broke eye contact, cheeks reddening. "It's none of my business."

"It's okay," Sam remarked softly. His face remained thoughtful for a moment, thinking over how much he could say without Al being present and approving. It didn't seem to matter with Greg; he was the type of person he trusted, had worked with for years and had earned his confidence. "Al and I. . .1 guess, are a. . . couple." It felt good to say the words to someone, proud of the love he had for the older man. "Have been since the day after you and I had that talk."

"That's great, Sam. I'm glad for you. I can see the change, just the way you're holding your own, handling things, like what happened yesterday. You haven't wound up into your shell, like you used to."

"I trust him. Greg. And, I love him." Sam's voice was firm, as if affirming his feelings. "If anyone knew that, they'd use it against us. I'm certain I don't have to worry about telling you this."

"Of course, Sam." Greg gave the other man's hand a quick squeeze. "Best thing that could've happened, for both of you."

It was late afternoon before Al returned. Exhausted from grueling morning, preparing for the conference, he tossed his hat on the computer chair and entered the living room. Sam was dozing on the couch, Greg crashed out in one of the armchairs, eyes snapping open as the Admiral entered.

"How is he?" Al softly asked, not wanting to wake his sleeping friend.

"Fantastic." Greg pulled himself together, pleased at the other man's arrival. "He doesn't need the chair," he said quietly. "The canes will do nicely, for a while, then he'll be back to normal."

"Great, that's terrific." Al felt distracted from the conversation, his mind more on what was expected of them tomorrow than anything else. "You can hit the road. if you want. I'm staying home the rest of the night."

Glancing at his watch, the blue eyes widened. "No kidding. It's nearly five and I've got that med-team meeting at six." Wisely, Greg knew it was best he leave the two men alone, so the Admiral could discuss things that weren't exactly on the therapist's 'need to know' list.

The moment the door closed behind Greg, Al knelt by the couch, burying his face on the warm leather near Sam's face, basking in the closeness. After this day, he craved his lover's presence, the only thing that would break the dismal mood he was in. The kid was really out, dressed in a warm jogging suit, curled onto his side. He strongly suspected Sam had worn himself out with therapy, and privately chastised Greg for pushing him too hard.

"You're home." Slowly, the younger man stretched, from fingers to toes, gracefully relaxing each still-cramped muscle. His greenish eyes cracked open, gazing at his friend softly. "I missed you. Did Greg...?"

"He said you're out of the chair, kid." A tiny smile crossed Al's dark face, pleased, at least, for that comfort. "We have to talk, Sam. They've scheduled the damned conference for tomorrow."

Rubbing his eyes, Sam sat up, using Al's shoulder as a brace. "I thought we had another day to prepare. I'm ready to get it over with, though."

"Good." Sighing, Al opened his nearby briefcase, tossing some of the papers within on the coffee table. "These are the questions that the nozzles are most likely to ask both of us. It's going to be me, you, and Weitzman, not to mention Ronnenburg, who may or may not show. I think I've convinced the committee to omit him. It's going to be fifteen minutes, no more. They get too close to some of the restricted stuff we're allowed to give them a 'no comment'. The things we can talk about are printed on this," he said, touching the top sheet. "The other stuff is just below it. If it's any help, I'm a little scared myself, but it's inevitable, and, frankly, just good PR."

"Tom called."

From the look on Sam's face, Al could tell it wasn't a pleasant conversation. "He tried calling me at the base, too, Sam. I made excuses, and I assumed Greg had shut off the damned cellular like I asked."

"It's not Greg's fault. I'm capable of handling my brother, or anyone else who calls." There was a touch of defensiveness in Sam's voice, touchy about being treated like an invalid again. "Including the press, providing they know our number."

"They don't. What did Tom say?"

"I'm not going into it." Sam shrugged, the tight line of his mouth stiffening. "I handled the conversation and hung up on him. He hasn't changed a whole lot, Al. Afterwards, Greg and I went swimming, and talked for a while. A nice quiet afternoon."

"And that's the kind of evening we'll have, Sam. Quiet. No interruptions." The Admiral decided to shunt aside the anger at Tom Beckett for now. No need to ruin their night with another argument. "I want to have you to myself. This is has been a crappy day, pal."

Sam bent forward and kissed the tired mouth, pleased at the response. Al's lips moved under his, practically taking the breath from his body. Warm hands caressed his skin under the worn sweatshirt, gently easing the material off and pressing him down to the couch.

Al stripped quickly, glad to be free of the starched uniform, and dumped it over a chair and returned to his waiting lover. Sam was draped over the couch, reaching for him and accepting his embrace. The older man fell over the prone form, pressing his body against every bit of Sam's body. They hadn't made love for so long, not since the cabin, and he craved to be inside the younger man, that tight ass closing around him.

Al kissed down the length of the warm body, pressing his fingers against the supple flesh and devouring each erect nipple hungrily. Sam arched under his touch, sensitive and wanting so much to be loved and cared for. The lips on his belly, laving each ripple of muscle, moving lower to take in his erect cock... Al's tongue and mouth moving and sucking him to a peak, taking in every inch of exposed flesh, his running pants falling to his ankles.

Licking every drop of cum from Sam, Al moved lower, kissing and caressing the perfect ass, smoothing the skin with his fingertips. He wanted to be as deep into Sam as possible, moving and thrusting inside the other man and that, tight, living warmth. Kissing Sam's lips, he told him, without words, what he desired, and staggered to the bedroom, returning with the tube of cream.

The first touch of the warm lubricant against his anus made Sam press against the fingers there, smiling in pleasure as Al inserted two fingers into his opening, widening it for his cock. A moment later, the other man was inside him, Sam's legs hastily pulled over the narrow shoulders, Al pumping and thrusting, his hard length moving deep within him. Sam's fingertips pressed against his lover's arms, keeping a constant pressure, clenching as the man came deep inside him, warm shots of semen spurting to his very core.

Al fell across the other man on the wide couch, planting tiny kisses on the upturned face, hands swirling through the long reddish hair. The touch of his hand on his own cheek was enough to electrify him, and feel every bit of love and care that Sam felt for him. Whatever tomorrow would bring, they'd handle the damn stuff together. For better or worse.


	22. Chapter 22

Chapter 13

Sam Beckett tried to think of pleasant thoughts as he and Al prepared to enter the conference room the next morning. All he wanted, really, was to sit down, his posture with the two canes shaky, not even Al' s steadying hand easing his discomfort. The tiny smile Al gave him, resplendent in his Admiral whites was cold and nervous. It made him feel a little better knowing that his friend, who had far more experience with this than he did, was as nervous as a cat on a hotplate.

Weitzman motioned them to the door, his expression tight, the sounds of reporters babbling behind him. "We're ready, gentlemen."

"Here goes, Sam." He released his friend, at the other's request, knowing that Sam would not want to be seen by the world as a man crippled by his experiment. It was seven a.m., Al noted, his mouth going dry. Zero hour.

A hush swept over the room as they entered, taking their places behind the table. In one instant, the sounds of cameras going off, their shutters clattering and squealing, almost deafened them. It was a planned conference and photo opportunity, and most of the media gathered here knew better than to shout out questions, Al thought, with a touch of relief. He and Sam had been promised that any and all reporters who did that would be unceremoniously evicted.

The questioning proceeded without a hitch, and they answered them as best they could, restricted by 'need to know' and the wary eyes of the Committee on them. Sam chafed at the group standing in the doorway. With the exception of Weitzman, it seemed that group of men and women were the ones that might cause problems later, if the real truth came out about Leaps. One thing they had been sworn not to tell was that Sam had leaped into the individuals and changed their lives. Their explanation, given to the press, was that Sam was an invisible observer, much like Al had been, watching and documenting events of the past forty years or so. The media seemed to accept those words, with little explanation.

The fifteen minutes were nearly up, and Sam was ready to breathe a sigh of relief, pleased it had proceeded so quickly and well. His pleasure came to a crashing stop when the reporter, who had seemed the most persistent, held up a copy

of the morning paper, inquiring politely if he or the Admiral had seen the photo that graced the front.

Sam stared in disbelief for a moment, then caught himself, relearning a valuable lesson from his friend, Al. The Admiral's face was cool and impassive, glancing at the page for a moment, and shoving it aside. Weitzman interceded before they were forced to comment, and they managed to leave the room without incident.

Once they were out of sight of prying eyes, Sam felt Al's dark gaze on him, an alien look to his expression.

Weitzman looked a touch sheepish. "It's tabloid, pure junk. One of the reporters managed a long-range shot, and blew the whole thing out of proportion. I explained to those who asked earlier that Greg was Sam's physician, that Dr. Beckett had suffered a minor paralysis, downplayed the entire thing. I forbid them to bring the thing into the conference center, and I'll make sure that particular reporter isn't allowed at future opportunities."

"Good. Make sure of it." Without changing his impassive expression, Al turned and walked away, not quite waiting for his partner to follow.

The worst possible feeling was building in Sam, feeling he'd betrayed Al's trust in him without really knowing it. The picture was grainy, out of focus slightly, but unmistakably himself and Greg, out by the pool. They were close together, lying on his stomach on the chaise, smiling at his therapist. The caption read, Dr. Sam Beckett and unknown male companion. He could only guess at Al's reaction, his eyes on the stiff white back of his uniform as he spoke to Weitzman in low tones.

Grudgingly, he worked the canes, moving to stand at Al's side. There was no malice in the look he received, a softly building anger starting to rise in the dark gaze. Was it because his privacy had been denied once again, or... something else?

They were driven back to the Project buildings, Al remaining, for the most part, silent, eyes directed straight ahead, lips around the cold cigar. Once they reached the Project, Al assisted him from the car, even going so far as to allow him to lean against him as they went inside. However, when they entered the office, and the door was firmly shut behind them, Sam saw the intensity of Al's anger build, knowing well he was witnessing the foreshocks to an 8.6 earthquake.

"Al, let me explain," Sam began.

"Not now, Sam!" Al snapped, bent over his desk, almost black with anger eyes coming up to meet his partner's. "It was Greg's fault, taking you out by that pool when he damn well knew better!"

"I was there, too. Christ!" Gritting his teeth, Sam leaned on and adjusted the canes, face reddening. "I'm not stupid. How were we to know they'd be positioned in such a way to take a picture?"

"Holding his hand, making it look like..."

"Like what? Would it have been better if it had been you and I kissing, Al? Would that have made a difference?"

"What the hell were you doing out there like that anyway?" Al eyed him suspiciously, the anger overloading any control he had over his emotions. "I have to wonder about that."

"You're right, Al. We're having an affair, right in broad daylight, just like you think."

"I didn't say that!" the older man retorted. "You're putting words in my mouth."

"I don't have to. You instantly assume things, that, frankly, have no base in fact. Greg is my friend. Just because every damned person that loved you took off with someone else doesn't mean for one moment that I'll do that! Are you going to go through this routine when I hug Verbena, or shake Gooshie's hand, or pat him on the back? I can't live like that, Al. I can't. Don't shove me away. You're pissed off, and under a lot of pressure, which, I might add, you haven't given yourself time to release."

With every word Sam said, Al felt the anger and tears rise behind his eyes.

"Al! "

"Go away!" he muttered, almost a growl.

Before he knew what hit him, the younger man felt himself propelled by strong arms and thrust into the hall. By the time Sam could manage it, he discovered the door was solidly locked behind him. Yelling, he could handle, and possibly one or two things tossed in his direction, but being shut completely off from Al made him nearly crazy. Was it the photograph, or something else?

"Could I interest you in a cup of coffee?"

Turning slowly, Sam confronted Verbena, smiling gently at him. "Having a little trouble with the Admiral?"

"Uh, not really," Sam answered too quickly, noting the psychiatrist's accompanying curious look. "He's under a lot of pressure, 'Bena," he said, trying to explain why she'd caught him banging senselessly on the office door. "He's a little upset and wants time alone."

"I see. Well, my invitation is still open. Dr. Beckett. You look like a lost soul; I'd love to sit and just talk for a while, if you don't mind."

Tom between worry for Al, and feeling he ought to go with Verbena and give his friend his privacy, Sam chose the invitation. It was a sure thing that his stubborn, furious lover wasn't about to allow him access to the inner sanctum, at least not for a while. Turning, he allowed Verbena to take his arm and assist him down the hall to the Project cafeteria.

Due to funding cuts, there were few people in the cafeteria. The entire project seemed empty to Sam, especially with Al cordoned behind locked doors. For the first time in ages he felt alienated from his environment, almost shivering from the chill that touched him. Dark brown eyes were watching him with concern, setting a ceramic cup with steaming tea before him and taking a seat across the table.

"Talk to me, Sam. It's been a while."

"About what?" Beckett asked, feeling himself automatically recoil at the question. It sounded so much like Al.

"You've had a pretty hectic few days, Sam. Most people wouldn't have survived what you went through with a positive attitude. You seem outwardly stable, strong, sure. I want to know what's hiding under Dr. Beckett, what kind of person is struggling with all of this."

A soft smile touched his lips, gazing askance at his friend. "Inside, Verbena, I'm one shaking, rattling mess. You wanted the truth...well, that's it, Doctor. As far as dealing with it, I've cried, in private, and held myself together. I was damned scared, and it's over. The moment all of the press stuff is over, and things get back to normal, I want to live my life quietly, make new plans for the future. That tremble in me will fade, but always remind me to watch my back. I don't want to lose it."

"How has Al taken all of this, Sam? Is..."

"That's not for me to say, and I respect his privacy," Sam said quickly. "If you want to discuss it with him, and he's willing, then you'll know." The rush of anger came over him, like a huge broom of emotion shoving turbulence through his body and out again. "I wouldn't be surprised if he's drinking himself into oblivion, not that I blame him. The damned conference, what happened at the airport, that photo..."

"In the paper?" She leaned on her hand looking thoughtful. "He's very protective of you."

"He's not my keeper, damn it!" He spat the words out, shoving aside the tea with one vigorous sweep of his hand, letting the fluid and ceramic splatter against the floor. "No one is! I want my life back!"

"And you're ready to take the control, Sam. Don't play games with yourself anymore." She didn't even flinch at the broken china. "Nobody wants to take over your life, especially not Al. He would be so happy to hear you talk like you are now, candid, and careful, respecting him, your privacy. As much as he seems to need alone time, I think he wants you there with him. There's a magical kind of relationship between you both; I used to think, privately, that you were too dependent on him. I don't think he's ever been one to allow a person to lean on him as much as you needed to, but he's adjusting. The Admiral is one complicated person, moreso than I can imagine. What he's going through now is withdrawal from that old loner he used to be, adjusting himself to being a team. Maybe he thought the photo was a threat, Sam. I knew he was upset about it."

"A threat?" Gaze narrowing, Sam leaned forward, wondering how much Verbena thought she knew.

"The press threatens the thing he wants the most for you. Your life, back, whole and normal. It wasn't Greg; I can imagine you were talking; you're a very touch oriented person, and there's nothing else that could be implied by that photo. Nothing. I've seen Greg, privately, and he's pleased, more than you know, that he has you as a friend. It's helping him get in touch with that person he left behind in Los Angeles, when his companion was killed. He's becoming more social, softer, and happier. His success with you as a patient has made him realize his potential, his purpose here, at the Project. Finally, he feels he belongs."

Silence greeted her words, her voice fading as she saw the look that crossed Beckett's face. He was so into himself, thinking of Al, perhaps, or the internal demons that were gradually gnawing at his soul. His head turned as Greg entered the room, looking as dark as Sam's mood. "Sam," Verbena questioned, worried by the expression on the physicist's face as he got up from the table, making a bee line to his therapist.

"What's going on?" Sam blocked Greg's way, standing steadily on his canes, worried and wondering about the other man's sick grimace.

"I stopped in to see the Admiral." With a shrug, the therapist brushed aside Sam's worry. "Nothing to it. Explained the picture, told him I was sorry about the inconvenience. He's in a nasty mood, Sam. Give him a few hours."

"What the hell did he say to you?" Anger was beginning to build in Sam's voice, shaking his hands that were clenched around the cane handles. "Tell me."

"Nothing. Told me to peddle my papers, do my job, and just forget it. I could tell he wasn't in the right frame of mind to deal with anything else just now. Drop it, Sam. It's no big deal. I tried my best to smooth things over, and he'll have none of it. There's so much going on, he'll set this on a back burner before too long."

"He blamed you for it, didn't he?"

"Yes," Greg sighed. "I told him he had nothing to worry about, that I wasn't about to talk to reporters unless ordered. There seemed to be something else, but he ordered me out, said to watch myself and stay the hell away from the house from now on, that you'd take your therapy here, for the time being."

"That was not for him to say." Glancing back at Verbena for a moment, he made his decision, shoving past Greg and heading in the direction of Al's office. They'd have this out now, or else.

The door was unlocked and Sam entered quickly as he could with his canes. Glaring across the desk, he felt the anger boil at the surface as Al pointedly ignored him. "You shouldn't have told Greg anything. Not a damned thing, Al. I can handle everything myself and don't need you to throw in your two cents."

Reaching over, Al hit the switch that locked the door, his eyes coming up to meet Sam's. "I know he's gay, Sam. One of those... When you hired the guy, you knew it, jeopardized..."

"And you're not?"

Stiffening, Al's mouth firmed, not willing or able to answer the kid. "I'm not, Sam. Not."

"Then what the hell are we?" Sam leaned over his canes, glaring at his friend. "Two men, sleeping together, making love, and that's not gay."

"No." The word was said firmly, ending the conversation, or so Al thought.

"You can't say it, can you?" There was a touch of sadness in the younger man's voice. "If you can't admit it to me, then you still haven't come to grips with it yourself. Before I leaped you were so...homophobic, entrenched in your career and all the little prejudices the Navy ingrained on you. I thought you changed. I don't want you to hire a band and announce our relationship to everyone here, not at all." Al's silence infuriated him, but the anger was fading with a sense of what he felt like doing now. "I love you. Can you say that, here? Even with the damned door shut tight, no windows, no ears, you can't. Or kiss me, and hold me, especially when I needed it the other day. A hug, Al, just holding me. I was so damned frightened. You're not a wraparound personality, I know that. You wear that uniform and you change into someone I don't want to know." With a sigh, Sam felt another headache coming on, blinking back the tears that were forming just behind his eyes. "I'm moving in at the Project, Al. It's obvious you don't want to talk to me now, and I can't go back to the house, not with this. You need to figure out a few things, and I have to learn to adjust."

"Whatever you think best, Sam," Al replied softly, feeling his stomach cave in, as if he'd been hit. Outwardly, he attempted the cool composure he was famous for, feeling the fight drain from him. "I don't want this," he said, his throat tightening.

"I don't, either, Al. Maybe it's temporary. I hate the thought of being apart from you, but you need to think if this is what you can handle from here on out. You and me, and if we are found out, you'll have to live with that, too. Think about it. I'll see you in a few days."

The door closed behind Sam and Al stared for a moment before re-locking the door and staring at the paperwork beneath his eyes, the print blurring as tears filled them. Maybe he still held age-old hang-ups. Sam wasn't asking him to expose their relationship, he'd never do that, but he wanted him to accept it. Suddenly that seemed a very difficult thing to do, indeed.


	23. Chapter 23

Chapter 14

The solid weight of the lead crystal rested coolly in Al's hand, a temptation to throw it against a wall itching his nerves. After the initial anger, the photo had disinterested him. Maybe his fury was unreasonable, but then, so was Sam's decision to move to the Project.

Setting the paperweight back down on the desk, Al settled into the non-thinking process of paperwork. Aggravated at his lack of concentration, he slammed the pen into it's holder and shoved his fingers through his hair. In his way, Sam was forcing him to shove past ghosts away where they belonged. Years of ingrained prejudices still loomed before him when he confronted certain people. He'd thought that after Sam's leap into Tommy that the worst of it was gone. Nothing had seemed to torque off Sam more than Al's caustic statements and rude jokes during that Leap.

Damn it, he didn't want to shove what he and Sam had into a title, or name. The thought of the two of them splitting up was physically painful. He could drink himself into a coma tonight, and who was to stop him? Shoving away from the desk, he went to his (now) rarely used wet bar and poured himself scotch, straight, dumping the contents of the glass down his throat and going for another. It didn't seem to dim the pain a bit.

"Admiral, I'm getting very tired of this." Verbena's patience was wearing thin; spending the best of a half hour standing outside of the office waiting for the door to unlock and allow her entrance. That decision was purely up to the man inside. Time to pull out the big guns. "It's about Sam. Not you."

The door slid open silently. The room was dark except for the lamp on the desktop, it's light playing shadows over the face of the man behind it. With an almost inaudible click, the entrance locked behind the doctor. "What about Sam?" Al questioned, his voice slightly fogged from drink and grief.

"He's better, but not by much. You mind if I sit?" A nod from Al, Swann taking the seat in front of the desk. "Physically, he's a miracle man, many times over. Greg's decided to cut the meds out altogether, in a week or so. They stop the headache, but not much else. Ibprophen would have the same effect." Frowning, Bena noticed that the Admiral seemed less interested than he expected he would be; or... "You've been drinking."

"Yes, and it's none of your business." He sounded smooth, with an undercurrent of anger. "What about Sam?"

"He's very depressed, Al. More than he was before you went to Canada; hell, worse than he was yesterday. If this pattern continues his physical condition will deteriorate along with the psychological. I'm going to him soon, to talk to him. I'm sure he's going to be one stubborn... you know." A ghost of a smile appeared on the man's face. "I thought maybe you could go to him and talk, but obviously you're not up to it, not now. He's staying here tonight, or so he says, and I don't advise that he be coerced into going back home. Sam Beckett is in a very fragile state, health-wise. The stress the media is putting on him, and," Bena added with steel in her voice, "Whatever you two are fighting about, is piling more stress on him than I'm afraid he can take. That's all I wanted to say. Admiral. I'm available tonight, should I be needed."

Unlocking the door, Al allowed the doctor to leave. Alone, he could think. There seemed to be only one way to show Sam how he felt, what he was willing to do for the both of them and their continued relationship. The past few hours he'd spent in deep thought, as, he suspected, Sam had intended him to. The kid had not forced him into a corner, or filed an ultimatum, no matter what it had sounded like. God, he could almost taste the emotion from his friend hitting him from across the Project, in that damned little room Beckett euphemistically called an apartment. A dead, lonely place. Just as nasty as the hole he'd dug for himself. Life without Sam wasn't worth thinking about, let alone live through.

The hours passed, Al biding his time, waiting for the others in the Project to leave so he could talk to Sam without Verbena and concerned friends looking on. In this stage of the game, at least for now, he needed to speak privately, gauging the other man's reaction to his decision. He'd made it with few regrets, confident that no matter how it was taken, that he'd still do it.

Midnight, halls empty of people, Al ventured from his office, cold sober and determined to see Sam. The door to Beckett's quarters was closed and locked, no response to his soft knock. If he spoke, Al thought, he'd break the spell, the silence that seemed to cloak the Project and his determination. Leaning his forehead against the cool bulkhead, he waited, knocking again once. The door slid open, admitting entrance, but no sign of Sam in the outer room. Sparsely furnished, and not habited in some time, the place gave no indication of his friends presence or personality. Most of what had been contained here was back at the house. Even when the Project had been in full swing, before the Leaps, Sam had rarely spent much time here.

He treaded softly, his footfalls cushioned by the thick carpet. A sliver of light cut a bright triangle from the bedroom door, just ajar. Silently, Al pressed it open, one of the few conventional entrances in the place. Barely breathing, he took in the sight on the bed; Sam, his back to him, clothed in t-shirt and running pants, curled tightly into a painful looking ball, huddled as if he were cold. Dead quiet. For one awful moment, Al wondered if Verbena had sedated him, if his condition had deteriorated to that extent in just the short time they'd spent apart. It seemed like days, he thought, not twelve hours.

A soft choked sound cut through the silence, the broad shoulders of the man on the bed shaking with just the barest emotion. The older man felt his heart break for his lover, wanting to just lift Sam from the bed and hold him close all night, begging and pleading for him to rest, relax, and know that he'd be there always. He cleared his throat, the sound making the other man stiffen, the trembling frozen for a moment.

"Sam? Don't look, please. You don't have to."

"What do you want, Al?" The words were a breath, barely audible. "I told you to leave me alone tonight."

"I couldn't, because...I made a decision. About us, and, well, I couldn't..."

The younger man rolled onto his back, the dim light just illuminating his features a fraction. His eyes were swollen, red-rimmed, as if he'd been crying for hours. "I'm in so much pain I can't think, Al. About you, or us." The words were so hard to say, catching in his throat. "You told me in so many words that I couldn't be trusted, and that our relationship was..."

"Sam, I told you not to look. Or say anything. That's part of it, too." Al kept his words quiet and even, the sight of the tearstains on Sam's cheeks enough to put him right over the edge. Pulling the Navel dress jacked from his shoulders, he tossed the jacket to the floor, kicking it aside. "It's over. The damned bastards can go to hell. I should've done it years ago."

Understanding dawning, Sam's eyes widened. "You can't..."

"I can do whatever I wish, when I want to. They can't kick me off this Project, or anything else we decide to do, if there's still a 'we'. Damn it, Sam, I'm not going to lose you. I'll give up the fucking Navy, all of it. You were right, like so many times." His posture was still straight as a wire. "I hurt the hell out of you. Damn it, I was a royal A bastard."

"You're quitting the Navy for me?" Sam was shaking his head. "I won't let you do that, Al. It means everything to you, your whole life."

Resolve to stay away from the other man was crumbling. Slowly, Al slid onto the bed, taking the cold fingers of Sam's right hand into his own. "I'm doing it for myself. You're it, you're all I have. I spent the last hours thinking, life and death stuff, Sam. You don't have to hear all of it, but I came to one conclusion; whatever crap I've been carrying around before all this I have to throw out the window because I love you, and want to have the rest of my life spent in your company. There. That's as much as I can say without getting mushy." Reaching over, Al pulled a crisp, white handkerchief from his pocket and brushed it against the tears that were pouring from Sam's eyes.

Smoothly, Sam pulled Al to him, brushing the back of the cotton shirt. His lover smelled of whiskey and pain, hurting as much as he was, in enough control to keep himself from falling apart, as he had. "You're really going to quit? No kidding around, Al."

"I've thought long and hard. I've been in the Navy for better than four decades. I can retire, Sam, with no reservations." He kept his arms tight around the other man. "They won't fire me from the Project, we'll see to that. I've got too much on some of those high placed nozzles, and they know it."

"Blackmail?" Sam chuckled, the tears dissipating with every word Al spoke.

"Worked before, kid." His hands rested in Sam's hair for a moment, smiling into the bright hazel gaze. "And if that's what it takes to keep this damn place together, then I'll use every little nasty detail to get our way."

"It's going to feel strange to not hear you called 'Admiral'." The words were slightly muffled against Al's shirt, Sam basking in the embrace and the solid feel of his lover in his arms.

"I'm going to hold you tonight, and try to talk about some of these things that are stressing you out. Maybe we can work them out and away."

"On one hand," Sam said quietly, calming under Al's smoothing hands. "Greg tells me I'm going to have to take a year to recover from leaping. Verbena says I may be clinically depressed and, with therapy and time, I'll come out of it. Outwardly, I'm as happy as I've been in my entire life. Of course, there are times I want to sleep all day, like this afternoon. God, you pissed me off. For a while there I thought we might be finished. Couldn't live with that, Al. It scared the hell out of me."

"Me too." The words were issued so softly they were nearly a breath. "I didn't want to live with that through the night, Sam. There isn't much else left for me if you were gone. It took a real slap in the face for me to realize that, and I knew it, but was taking our life for granted. Sometimes, when I see you in the morning, it literally takes the breath from me, I love you that much. I don't want to lose you, Sam."

"I am depressed, Al. It's something deep within me, completely without reason. Verbena wants me to spend time with her, and to work with the Project. She thinks it might be the fact that I've been so constantly busy the past years that any lapse of momentum gets me down. Once I gradually start living a real life, then the depression might fade. God, just hold me, and keep telling me you love me. I want to go home, Al."

"Not tonight, Sam." The dark eyes glittered in the darkness, pulling the larger man closer to him, burying his hands in the tawny hair. "You can sleep here as good as you can at home, and I'll stay with you."

"Others," Sam began hesitantly. "Members of the staff might have some strange thoughts if they see us coming out of this room together tomorrow morning, Al."

"I've gone past the point of worrying about that," Al said quickly, kissing the other man gently on the cheek. "You've made me realize there's more here to be tensed up about than a bunch of snoops wondering if we're screwing around." It was almost a relief to say the words, throwing caution to the winds. "As for the feelings you're having, the depression, damn it, Sam, you'll make it, whatever it takes. I've been through that, for nearly two years. I dumped a lot of booze on it and buried every ounce, only to have it re-emerge on me later. That won't happen to you, kid. You'll fight, and climb over the top of it, like I should have. You're a bit stronger than I am."

"And I do have incentive," Sam said, a flash of tease creeping into his voice. His fingers strolled along Al's chest, touching the warm skin beneath the material. Just having Al say the comforting words, confident and reassuring, made him feel better already. The grief of the afternoon was all but gone, held in the arms of the man next to him.

A flash of pain crossed Al's face, unseen to the man in his arms. His troublesome stomach was wincing from the alcohol intake, or perhaps just the worry about Sam. Snuggling deeper into the mattress, he eased the kid closer, inwardly shoving the stabbing pain away.

The only person who seemed inquisitive of the past night's activities was Verbena, but she wisely kept her questions to herself. Upon entering the Project cafeteria, she spied her two bosses eating breakfast and deep into some conversation. Sam was grinning from ear to ear, wagging his index finger at the Admiral, the older man leaned back against his chair, eyes partially closed, smiling softly at whatever his friend was saying. It was as different as night and day from what she'd observed twenty-four hours before.

Sam gave her a friendly pat as they left the cafeteria, smiling down at her softly as he passed. "I want to see you this afternoon, Dr. Beckett, " she gently reminded.

"No problem," he sang out, following Al out of the room.

Mysteriouser and mysteriouser. This was not the Sam Beckett she'd been with yesterday afternoon. Whatever rift had developed between him and the Admiral had apparently been rectified. There had been a lightness in Al's step as they'd passed by, and Sam had simply been pleased beyond reason. With a sigh of contentment, she sat back in her chair. It was a pleasure to know that Sam had come to grips with whatever temporary grievance he had with the older man.

Al carefully locked the office door behind them as they entered, Sam slumping on the most comfortable chair and waiting patiently for his friend to finish whatever business that awaited him. They'd spent the night together talking and trying to get as much rest as they could. Simply sleeping in Al's arms had helped him awake with a new perspective. Some of the heavy depression had lifted, twinges still nagging in the pit of his stomach, but somewhat sated by the warmth and affection Al had shown for him the night before.

"Damn it." Al flung the neat stack of prepared notes to the top of the desk, glaring at it as if it somehow offended him. "They pick the greatest times to throw a wrench in the works."

"What now?" Sam sighed.

"I don't know if you're ready to hear this." The Admiral's voice was grave. "How much time before you think all the data can be correlated?"

"Two weeks," Sam replied promptly. "At least."

"We got one, buddy." Scraping one hand along his unshaven chin, Al shook his head at the shocked expression on Sam's face. "This must've come in sometime early. The Pentagon seems to think if this place isn't dismantled immediately more will leak out to the press, causing more problems. I'm sorry, Sam. I'll help as much as I can, but..."

"We'll finish it, then." The gentle tone was grave, barely whispered. The thought of shutting down the Project, and Ziggy along with it made him nearly sick to his stomach. "The I.C. is basically 'up' and that'll have to be torn apart. We own the patent, Al. They can't have the holographic techniques, the Imaging Chamber as a whole, or Ziggy. Those were developed with my grant money and donations. I can finish data gathering, and send them a report in five days, do the rest in two, with your help."

"Are you up to this, Sam?" The concerned gaze took in the man across from him. "It's gonna knock you on your butt. It might mean constant work, from morning to night, and I want you to get some rest. I'm not going to nag, Sam, or play doctor without a license."

"Yesterday afternoon wasn't one of my best times, let me tell you. We can't think about that now." His voice grew furtive and strained as he leaned forward in the chair. "I'll go directly to Control and mop up. If you can get the wheels moving in here, we can go home for dinner and a nap, head back and work some more." Smiling slightly, he reached across the desk and took one of his friend's ever- moving hands in his. "I know better now than to push it, Al. I'll be fine, really," he reassured.

The firm grip was returned, a tiny grin appearing briefly on the older man's worn face. To be honest, he felt like hell, his stomach twinging and painful, even the two pills he'd taken with breakfast had barely assuaged it. He hoped that he was hiding the majority of it from his intuitive friend. Relievedly, it seemed Sam was far too into thinking about the dismantling process to notice.

They spent the day working out and through piles of printouts, pushing Gooshie past the point of reason. It was a relief to leave the place and enter the quiet house. They'd snatched a quick, but filling snack at the Project, and Sam went straight to the bedroom, flopping unceremoniously on the mattress, kicking off his high tops and closing his eyes. Blissfully, he drank in the quiet house. Under his closed eyelids he could still see the numbers and words printed on white paper. Maybe after a rest he'd be able to stomach more of the constant work.

Al appeared in the doorway, causing Sam to open his eyes and smile at his lover. With a tinge of worry, he noticed what had been hidden from his busy gaze the entire day. The older man looked worn to the bone, his pallor gray and ill. Muttering an apology, Al rushed into the bath and shut the door quietly. Sitting up, Sam stared at the door for a moment, frowning. Another moment he was at the bath, gently tapping then opening and entering.

Al was bent over the sink, tossing a handful of white capsules into his mouth and washing it down with a glass of water. The reflected face of his friend looked a touch guilty, brown eyes bright with pain.

Sam took the prescription bottle from the vanity and gazed at the label for a moment, mouth down turned at the words he read. "How many of these have you been taking, Al?" he asked softly.

"Just a few." Shaking his head, Al closed his eyes for a moment, wishing away the burning in his gut. "I'm going to lay down for a while, kid. I'll set the alarm for ten and we can get back to work."

For a few minutes, Sam stood in the empty bath, staring at the bottle and wondering. What had Al been going through the last few weeks? The pills were the most intensive prescription for ulcers. Al had mentioned a little stomach trouble, but nothing like this. What with the press, and fielding security, taking care of him when he was ill, and the abduction, his Admiral was one sorry mess. If things kept up on their course, his friend would have to undergo surgery, or worse. People had died of internal bleeding, peritonitis...

Things would have to change, Sam decided firmly, replacing the bottle in it's place and shutting off the light. It was time he took over his end of duties, disabled or not. He was perfectly capable of doing some of the things Al had done in his absence.

Standing in the doorway, he gazed at his friend, curled onto his side and probably deeply out. Al had looked like three days of bad road. Silently, he promised his friend he'd take on more responsibilities, and try his best to not let on to him that he was lessening the load.

Al turned slightly as Sam eased onto the bed, smiling as his partner rolled over and snuggled up to him. The silk shirt Al wore was smooth under his cheek, his friend just on the verge of sleep. Small hands played in his longish hair for a moment. "You're wondering about the meds."

"You can tell. I'm worried, Al."

"If it's any consolation, I'll let you check me over tomorrow, or when we have a chance after all this. Just let me nap out for a while and I'll be my nasty old self, okay?" His voice faded on the last few words as he fell asleep.

With a gentle brush of his lips, Sam placed a kiss on Al's forehead and held him close, feeling the waves of exhaustion take him in the tow with his friend.


	24. Chapter 24

Chapter 15

Five days spent in the Project were beginning to take a toll on Sam's and Al's nerves, not to mention the overworked staff. Sometimes the long nights gave way to quick, out of control snapping matches between the two men. watched nervously by Gooshie, giving way to relieved tiredness and seldom caught naps. After the first night spent at home, they never returned, not having the luxury of time to drive back to the place, even for showers or change of clothes. Providentially, they'd packed a case of clothes for each of them, and took up temporary quarters at the Project, not worrying or caring about who knew they were sleeping together.

Finally, the last paper was pulled from the printer, the last disc booted from the drive and stored; copied for Sam's private records and the original stored for Pentagon approval. Ziggy, as a computer, was Sam's. The hardware was the military's, but the parabolic, hybrid part that gave her personality was patented as a Beckett invention, and reverted to him at the end of Project Quantum Leap, as per contract. Ruefully, Sam noted, Al had fought long and hard to include that clause in the paperwork they'd signed. Also, the Imaging Chamber, partially owned by their guardians, and mostly by themselves. The process was his, Al's and Dr. Kevin Drayton's, but the hardware for the actual Imaging Chamber was owned by the military. It wasn't like they could move an entire cavern, Sam reflected, closing the last of the disc containers.

Sitting in a nearby chair, Al held his head as the marker Sam used squeaked against the label. He felt like he had a hangover; twenty-eight hours with little to call sleep had a tendency to do that. With a touch of apprehension, he noticed a particular look cross Sam's face. "What are you up to Sam?"

"This might be our last chance."

"For what, Sam? If you think you're going to do something with what's left of the Accelerator..."

"Not that." From his sprawled position on the floor, the younger man grinned up at his friend. "I was just wondering what it would be like to use the Imaging Chamber one more time." He didn't notice the strange look that crossed Gooshie's face, the programmer glancing once over towards the Admiral, and shaking his head. "For old times sake, before we close it down."

"Sam..." Sighing, Al brushed his hand over his weary eyes. "It's late, kid. We ought to just get this stuff out into the foyer for the shipping company to pick up and..."

"C'mon, Al." Sam eased himself up awkwardly, using the nearby console as support for his weaker side. "It'll take only a few seconds to gear up the Chamber, and..."

"A twenty minute elevator ride. Lovely." Al's eyebrows were nearly at his hairline, realizing Sam was quite serious, wanting very much to use his toy one last time. "Okay," he said reluctantly, well aware of Gooshie's concerned gaze. "But then we go home, okay?"

"Whatever you say." There was a bounce in Sam's words as he started the sequence to fire up the Imaging Chamber.

Al spent the elevator trip dozing, as he had on many mornings when Sam had been leaping. Gooshie had tried to take him aside before he'd left Control, but he'd avoided hearing what he was afraid he'd say. Sure, he thought, there'd been some problems at first, the way the I.C. had a way of draining energy; not only from the Project and outlying areas, but from those who used it, namely himself. It'd nearly killed him during leap when Sam had been a boxer helping the nun get her church. Only some fast lies and quick talking had kept Sam from knowing the truth then. After two years of continuous use, he'd found he'd adjusted to the tiresome chore, not having to pretend to Sam that he had a noisy neighbor, or had spent a night with Tina.

As the elevator doors slid open at the end of his long ride, Al started, surprised that it had seemingly taken so little time. Man, he was more tired than he'd thought. Regardless, he'd promised the kid fifteen minutes, but no more. Then it was time for Sam to keep up his end of the deal.

The handlink was still in it's place, bracketed to the wall next to the I.e. door. With a touch of nostalgia, he smoothed his hands over the multi-colored thing, still not quite satisfied with the Lego block colors Gooshie had insisted on. Using colors for a computer language had been one of the programmers more brilliant (no pun intended) ideas. It had also been a perfect way to keep Sam from figuring out what Ziggy was telling him. Keying in the code, the door opened obediently and he entered.

In the moment that he stepped in, what energy he had left ebbed. The crystal white walls dissolved around him, forming the familiar sight of Control, some five miles above. Recovering quickly from the energy lag, Al tried to grin at the man sitting directly in front of him, giving the link a few raps and emitting the same whining squeals.

"The meson link is still working," Sam said, with a touch of pride. "You look decidedly transparent, Al."

"Not as much as you do," the older man said, keeping a lilt to his voice. He felt decidedly unwell, falling back into the old pattern of covering. "Damn it, Sam, it works, okay? Can we go home now?"

"Stop whining." With a grin, Sam leaned back in the chair, unaware of Gooshie's worried form near him.

"Dr. Beckett," the programmer said quickly, remembering and noticing the definite grayness in Al's complexion. "This is pulling a great deal of power from the mainframe. After so many months of disuse..."

"I guess we can shut it down, Al." Sam bit his upper lip for a moment, leaning over the console, almost the same position he'd been in when they'd first installed the holographic program, with Al dissolving through his fingers, leaning over to read the screen...all those years ago. "Come back up and we'll go home."

The two men's eyes locked for a moment, Al holding the link, giving Sam a tight look before opening the I.C. door. It might be the last time he used it to communicate with his friend. "I'll see you in a few, kid," he said softly, the door shutting behind his image.

Al felt like a folding deck of cards as the elevator started, almost falling to his knees with the intensity of his fatigue. Better to do it now, he thought, than to do it in front of Sam. If the kid knew what toll the damn I.C. took on him, he'd throw one of his patented guilt trips and not pull out of it for weeks. Catching his breath, he managed to make it back to his feet before the lift ended it's trip to the surface.

He was grateful for Sam's strong, one-armed hug, sinking in the emotional embrace, closing his eyes and wrapping his own arms around the slim form. It was nothing like the last time he'd used the thing; one moment staring into Sam's bewildered gaze, and nothing on the outside but the death still body in the Waiting Room. "Take it easy, kid," he muttered, his voice rough, patting and soothing the man's back, grinning over Sam's shoulder at Gooshie's tremulous expression. Hell, the programmer looked as if he was about to break down himself. "You're tired, and I'm beat to the bone. Let's get this over with, and leave."

They packed the boxes of discs to the foyer of the Project and said their goodbyes to Gooshie. Their offices had been cleared, and contents included in what the moving men would pick up the next day. Al had formally resigned, brushing aside the decommissioning of his rank and official occasions that the Navy seemed to want to press on him. Seemingly, it made things easier, to give up that part of his life that had been more of a weight than a support in the last months. Gooshie was headed for California, to head a consortium in the Silicon Valley, assured that his influence could revitalize the burgeoning aerospace industry there.

In the last few days, Sam had kept a closer eye on Al, trying very hard not to allow circumstances to cloud his watchful vision over his friend as it had in the past. Now, he realized how worn out Al was, and the vital necessity it was to get him home and into bed. "I'll drive," he said quickly, as they walked out into the cooling desert night.

"You'll have to," Al admitted, his eyes a smile. "I'm not driving that monstrosity of a Jeep again. Not if I can help it."

With only a few awkward movements, Sam managed to pull out of the Project parking lot and down the highway to home. Al seemed alert, sunglasses in place, even though the sun had gone down. Dusk hung over the desolate area around them, the sky almost purple and clear. One of the down points about the Jeep, Sam noted, was that it didn't allow much in the way of cuddling, as Al's car did. The older man was sitting straight as an arrow in the bucket seat, and he noticed that his posture was more or less controlled, probably trying to cover how tired he was. No matter, the moment they reached home, he planned on dumping one certain person in a nice warm bed and making him sleep for a few days.

He pulled the Jeep into the garage and used the remote to close the door behind them. As he waited for Al to unlock the door to the house he reflected on the days work behind them and what lay ahead. Certainly, they couldn't expect or want the military to back them on their next undertaking. As he caned his way into the house, he wondered what source they could tap to begin their new Project.

"Al, what do you think...?" The sound of a body hitting the floor made Sam practically trip over his canes in his haste to make it to the living room. Flinging the canes aside, Sam fell to the parqued floor, his heart nearly stopping at the sight of Al sprawled against the tiles. Instantly, his fingers went to the man's carotid, sighing as he felt the tiny pulse of life there. Fast, far too thready to be healthy, but he was alive. His mind quickly flashed on calling for an ambulance, just as the dark brown eyes cracked open.

"Damn." The word was no more than a breath as Al attempted to sit up. The overwhelming nausea was a not unfamiliar sensation, the room and Sam's frightened face spinning around him. The Imaging Effect, as Gooshie and Greg had called it. Like a hangover of the worst kind, only tripled. It hadn't been too difficult to fake it in front of Sam on the Leaps, and the kid had been too swiss-cheesed to really know or comprehend what was causing him to be in a constant state of weariness.

"Don't try to get up. My God, Al you scared three years out of me!" Sam's heart threatened to pound out of his chest as he soothed his face down friend. "I knew you were tired and kept pushing...if I..."

"Has nothing to do with it, Sam." Brushing off the beginnings of guilt, Al forced himself upright, just barely managing to his shaky feet and flopping

unceremoniously back onto the couch. He was barely aware of what he was saying, let alone doing.

"I should call Greg." Sam grappled with the canes for a moment, still quaking from the fright he'd received from the older man. "Let me check you over."

"I'm just worn to bits, Sam." Trying vainly to wave off one Dr. Beckett was futile. "You're as tired as I am. Youth has a way of keeping you from falling flat on your face like I did."

"It's more than that." The hazel eyes widened in alarm as he checked over his friend's vital functions. "You're almost going into shock. Respiration, pulse... I'm calling the base for..."

"Damn it, I'm going to be fine!" The snapping words brought a hurt look to Sam's face, stinging him as well. "There's some pills in the medicine cabinet, behind the alcohol. Two of those and I'll be ready to do the fifty yard dash."

Quickly as he could with the canes, Sam went to the bathroom, re-entering the room gazing at the label of the bottle. Something in his still encumbered mind was nagging at him, a worry they'd had in the early days. Wordlessly, he handed the bottle to Al and started towards the kitchen for a glass of water when it finally hit him. Turning, he frowned, gazing down at the man on the couch, who was struggling with the lid of the bottle. "It's the Imaging Chamber," he said softly. "Those meds are for balancing electrolytes, only used in severe cases. Why didn't you tell me?"

"Sam, I meant to, but..."

"I'll get you a glass of water." Shaking inwardly, Sam went to the kitchen and ran the sink, returning with a cupful. Al had shaken two capsules into his hand and drank the water gratefully, chasing the pills down. Taking the bottle from him, Sam noted it wasn't the first time the prescription had been refilled, and that the bottle itself was more than half empty. "It's been since the beginning, hasn't it?" he asked, eyes narrowing.

"Not the very beginning, Sam." Al's words were drained with weariness. "Maybe after the first couple of leaps. I sort of built up to it. Never expected what happened today. Most of the time, I managed to cover it up pretty well, figuring someday you'd find out. Well, just remember I was the one who insisted on using the thing. If it had been a problem I'd have quit."

"Don't lie to me, Al. Wild horses wouldn't have kept you out of the Imaging Chamber if I was in trouble." Silence hung between them for a few moments, acknowledging the debt Sam owed the older man. He'd not only given up three years of freedom for him, but possibly his health, as well. "I'm not going to over dramatize this, or how I'm feeling. Can you make it to the bedroom?"

"I think so. Mostly what I want is a hot shower, kid." Feeling every bone ache, Al managed to pull himself from the couch and get to his feet, supporting himself on Sam's arm as he walked the distance from living room to bath. As the younger man helped him with his clothing, he snatched a quick glance at Sam's expression-and found nothing. Whatever he was feeling was hidden behind a stern facade, even his expressive eyes indecipherable and clouded. "This is one thing I didn't try to cover up, Sam. It was in the data, just waiting for you to read it." He sagged for a moment, barely able to keep his seat on the closed toilet without Sam's supportive hands. The other man knelt in front of him, accepting his words. "I didn't exactly expect what happened." It was an effort to speak, betrayed in the way he ground out each word. "Only at the start was I drained out, and I couldn't tell you because your brain was fried. It would have only confused and upset you past the point where you could handle it."

"You were taking care of me, like I'm going to start doing for you, now." A faint smile appeared on Sam's face as he laid his palm against Al's cheek. "The Project is over, for now, and..." The words suddenly caught in his throat, unable to continue with the new memory neatly surfacing in his mind. Sinking down on the tiled floor, Sam felt his head pound, clenching his eyes shut at what; he remembered.

"Hey?" Al frowned, noticing Sam's tanned skin suddenly go as white as the porcelain around them. "What is it, kid?"

"I'll.. I'll get your tub..." Just managing to pull himself up was a feat worthy of an Academy award. Forcing his friend's concern aside was a matter entirely out of his control.

Fingers curled around Sam's forearm, holding him tight, deceptively strong. "I know that swiss cheese look, and you can't fool me. What's in your head, Sam? Tell me, or I'll knock it loose."

"You don't remember. You can't."

"Tell me, Sam, or so help me..."

"I almost killed you today. Like I did...once before."

A look of total confusion slid over Al's angry face. "What the hell are you talking about? If you tell me it was nothing, worn to a frazzle or not, I'll walk."

"Don't threaten to leave every time you get pissed off. I hate that!" He slumped back onto the floor, waiting for Al to calm down enough and sit back down. "You don't remember the Leap, you've never brought it up. I was you, for a while."

"Of course I remember that. I'm not missing any bolts, Sam, not yet." With a certain fondness, the older man recalled that time, and confronting his younger self in the Waiting Room. Certainly, there were parts that seemed a little fuzzy, but not more so than other Leaps. "We changed things, so Lisa didn't buy the big ticket. You saved her."

"That wasn't all of it." The greenish gaze was clouded. It was difficult to tell Al of what had happened previous to Lisa's return. "I changed a few things, that we managed to repair."

"Like Lisa...and Chip. You know all the data, Sam. He didn't die in 'Nam. He wasn't drinking, burying all that stuff about Marcie. Sometime I want to introduce you both. What's making you look sick? You didn't kill me then, for Pete's sake. Hell, you gave me a clean record, just dissolved all that murder stuff."

"I didn't, not at first. God, Al, you were there one minute, gone the next, replaced by this little guy-British. I...I've Swissed his name. Kept calling Ziggy, Alpha, and told me you died in the gas chamber in 1960. I'd messed so much of the Leap up. I didn't know what to think. I started to lose my memory of you, even your name. It wasn't for long, and you came back when I found the cigar, but..."

"That's nuts. I was there the whole time. We spent..."

"Not for me, Al. Not on my side. I fouled the Leap, screwed around not knowing what I was doing, and you died. It might be the only memory we don't share." He took a ragged breath, wide eyes looking up at his friend's confused and worried face. "One moment you were there, spelling out what the odds were on your conviction, then, the other guy. There wasn't even a beat between the words. He wasn't a half bad person, seemed friendly enough, but he wasn't you, Al. Almost instantaneously, I lost bits of my memory of you, as if you never existed. That night, I stayed up, trying to pull together what was left of what I remembered, thinking I'd killed you. If I slept, I'd lose that, and I couldn't do it. When we went out to the Corvette, and found the cigar, you came back. It was so good to see you. I didn't forget what it felt like to lose you. There was no way to describe what it was like to go those few hours without. I felt distanced and afraid."

"You had a few close calls yourself, Sam. Couple times I felt I'd arrived too late, and you were a goner. This is so damned bizarre. You're not just making this up?"

"Why the hell would I do that?" Sam cut short the scream building, partially heard in the words torn from him. Wetness was pouring down his face, unexpressed on the Leap, and now, remembering the event, feeling fresh grief. "And I almost did it again today. It's over now, I know, and you'll be fine, once you rest. God, I'm forgetting how tired you must be."

"Are you going to be okay, Sam? I don't want to make a move until you promise me you won't carry that luggage around with you. It's something between us. Kinda hard for me to take, but I'm handling what you've said. All that matters, kid, is that we're here now, and you can't go out there and foul up anything, thank God." That emitted a tight chuckle from Sam, breaking the tension. "We'll talk about it more later, then. Go get ready for bed and I'll take my own shower, thank you."

"You can stand for it?"

"For another five minutes," Al said wearily. "Then it's Sandman City."

Coming to his feet, Sam took the other man's hand and pulled him up. The older man was as weak as he'd ever seen him, and no amount of reassurance would keep him from his side tonight. He took off his own clothes, letting them fall to the floor, grinning at the look that crossed Al's face. "We'll take one together so I know you don't take a tumble into the porcelain."

Practically lifting Al into the tub was no chore. The man was a bundle of bones, pliant in his grasp. The steamy water washed away the accumulated filth on their bodies from the past days at the Project, Sam gently soaping and rinsing Al's form and hair with loving hands. After the shower, he toweled the languid form off, and helped him into clean pajamas, pressing him down into the bed and tucking the warm comforter around his shoulders.

The older man fell asleep without preamble, no grumbling about being treated beneath his dignity or age. Sam had to smile at the trust that was placed in his hands. For the next two weeks he was still Admiral Calavicci, but no one but Sam knew the side of him that was new, that could allow someone to put him to bed without complaint, or gently kiss the smooth forehead as the dark eyes closed.

Suddenly, Sam didn't feel tired, the weariness replaced by a surge of adrenalin. He made sure Al was settled and comfortable, then went to his PC to program the preliminaries so some components of Ziggy would have a temporary home. It was busy work, to keep his mind off of worries about Al and his now fresh memories of that Leap where he'd nearly lost him. He slipped his headset over his ears, letting the Beach Boys pour into his ears as he worked.

Almost summer, nearly June. The music was enough to help his mind to drift, partly working on the programming, the other side daydreaming. They'd have nearly a month off, once things quieted down and the Project was closed. After the press briefing, it seemed the media had backed off. Katie was beginning to comer him on what date she should come to visit. Maybe around Al's birthday, on the fifteenth.

The CD had played five times before Sam noticed he was listening to the same songs over and over. He snatched the set from his head and shut down the modem. There was one disc missing, one he'd probably left packed at the Project. The barest light was seeping through the windows; almost dawn. If he hurried, he could grab a box or two from where they'd left them, and leave the rest for the moving company.

Checking Al, he found he was deeply out, face buried in Sam's pillow, hands splayed over the empty side of the bed. He left a note on the bedside table near Al, in case he might awake, fat chance. It wouldn't do to have him find the house empty with no explanation.


	25. Chapter 25

There had been no trouble at the gates and Sam pulled into his spot in the Project parking lot and maneuvered himself and canes from the vehicle. The space next to his had been Al's, and he frowned, noticing the name had been painted out. Probably since he'd sent in his resignation. The nozzles sure didn't waste time, he thought, feeling a growing resentment. Most of the past five days had been like that, with the watchful eyes of the military on them, making sure they didn't take a paperclip they weren't entitled to.

The main entrance didn't respond to his presence, keyed to the sensor on his name badge. Frowning, he tried the coded card that had been obsolete for some time. Nothing.

"Can I help you, Sir?"

The security woman was someone he wasn't acquainted with. "I'm Dr. Beckett," he said quickly, touching his badge. "I need some things from the lab and thought..."

"You are not authorized in this area, sir." She touched a toggle on her belt corn, hand going to the barrel of her weapon. "I was informed of your presence on the base when you entered. This area is sealed."

"I'll handle it. Sergeant."

Sam turned to face Sliwa, the man who had assisted them from Canada. It was a relief to see the Native American's stern face. "I wanted to retrieve some discs from boxes we left for the moving company and..."

"I can't give you access. Dr. Beckett." The soft words were apologetic. "The boxes should be delivered to your home this morning. Other than that, the Project has been cleared. You didn't..." His lips sealed, almost obsidian eyes flicking to the other buildings that housed the Project.

Gaze widening, Sam moved away from the door, gazing at where the Imaging Chamber and Accelerator had been. The ground was bare, no evidence that anything had ever stood there, right down to scrub and dirt. Some bricks were piled nearby, but other than that, it was as if Project Quantum Leap had been wiped out of existence. Sliwa at his side, he caned his way over the sand, shaking his head, feeling as if he were in an episode of the Twilight Zone. Wordlessly, he stared at the bare desert, too stunned to say a word.

"We're under orders. If you ask, we'll tell you your Project didn't exist, Dr. Beckett. I suggest you go home. It's most likely the government will inform you if you need anything."

Sam let Sliwa walk him back to the Jeep. He started the engine and pulled out, then noticing that his name had been wiped out of existence on the space as surely as the outbuildings had been. There had been some ovations towards the Pentagon defining the Project as Ultra Top Secret and putting it on the non-use file, too dangerous and unpredictable to be used towards defense. That was a relief, he thought through his shocked mind. They wouldn't use the time machine for military purposes, or anything, for that matter.

The house was still there, Al very asleep in the bedroom, Sam noted in relief. His brain felt turned inside out and he needed the solid reassurance of Al's arms around him, or at least near his body to keep him from going completely off the deep end.

Chapter 16

It was nearly noon, Al noted, blinking muggy-feeling eyes. The other side of the bed was empty. He was quite sure that Sam had not even pulled back the blanket that was tucked in on his side. Knowing he could sleep another six hours and not even blink at it didn't prevent him from rolling out of the warm sheets and finding out where Sam had gotten to.

He was in the living room, sprawled on the floor, surrounded by stacks of computer discs from boxes he assumed had arrived while he slept. In between the stacks, the kid was snoring up a storm, clothed in a robe and boxer shorts, utterly and totally exhausted. He made quite a picture, like a weary child who had passed out among his toys. Kneeling by the still form, Al brushed the longish hair from the younger man's eyes. "Time for bed, Sam. Wake up."

"Why wake up just to go to bed?" Sam groused, blinking and stretching. "What time is it?"

"Noon. I see the company delivered the..."

"The Project is gone."

"Well, yeah, it's over. Lots of things left, places to look for funding."

"I went back there earlier this morning, Al." Sam's fogged mind was beginning to clear. He couldn't remember when he'd fallen asleep on the floor, digging through the boxes to make sure everything was still there. They'd been delivered around nine a.m. and he'd torn the carefully packed cases apart to reassure his mind before dozing off. "The whole place, with the exception of administration has been leveled. All of it, like it never happened."

Taking a beat, Al sat back on the floor, eyeing his friend carefully before speaking. "Then you don't talk about it, Sam, Only between the two of us, never around anyone else. We're damned lucky they didn't try eliminating us, too. Maybe my years with the Navy and intelligence saved our ass. And your security clearance." For now, Al couldn't tell Sam the way he'd managed to retain his life's work, and the bargain he'd struck with the Pentagon. He grinned, laying his arm over Sam's slumped shoulders. "Kiddo, in twenty years it'll all come out, and we can talk then. Now, we shut up and go on. You look like hell. Crash time."

"It's here," Sam said, not noticing or caring if he went to bed. "All the data, everything, the leaps." Face upturned, he gave Al a wondering look. "Why didn't they take this, too? They're never that generous, ever."

"Sam, don't question this, please!" Gripping the soft shoulders beneath his hands, he gently gave his lover one smooth shake. "You need to knock off for a while, then you can play with your stuff. I'll help. Kid, you look like death." He gave him an anxious look. "I don't want another relapse."

"Neither do I," Sam stated sincerely. He slumped under Al's grip, bringing up one of his hands to cover the other man's right gripping fingers. "And, you're right. Bed sounds beautiful."

"I want to love you, Sam." Smiling easily, Al assisted the younger man to his feet. "It's been some time, if you're up to it."

"Always." The greenish eyes glittered with scampish delight. Leaning heavily on the other man, Sam allowed himself to be taken to the bedroom.

He laid back complacently on the bed, half shutting his eyes as Al touched his lips to his throat and chest, fingers smoothing over nipples and stomach. Savoring the sensation, Sam sighed as his lover pressed his mouth over his, slick tongue pressing for entrance, sliding over his teeth and lips. With a breath, they parted, Al's mouth brushing the bit of hair that hung in Sam's eyes for a moment, before smiling. "You're gorgeous, you know that?"

"You tell me it enough," Sam said reluctantly. "I don't think you're half bad yourself. I love you, Al."

"There's always that." He slid down the length of Sam's body, pressing his hands over Sam's groin for a moment, parting the robe that he wore. Lowering the boxer shorts, Al noticed his lover's erection stood out, long, hard, and waiting. Al took it in both hands, taking the tip with his mouth, practically wrapping his tongue around the head. Sucking he took in every bit he could of Sam's cock. the sounds of the other man's soft cries turning him on even more than the taste of him. Warm cream shot down Al's throat, as he swallowed, licking and cleaning away every bit of cum from his lover before sliding over the pliant body again and taking his mouth with his.

Sam's eyes closed, hands reaching down to squeeze Al's butt for a moment. He spread his legs apart, wrapping calves and feet around the other man's torso as they kissed. Breaking away, he breathed, "I want you in me, Al."

"Nothing would give me greater pleasure." Snatching the tube of KY from the bedside table, Al applied the gel to his cock and reached down to slide the lubricant up and into Sam's ready cavity. The moment he entered him, the sensation was the same; smooth, loving, and perfectly satisfying. The tight muscles of Sam's ass clenched his organ, pressing and squeezing against the warm friction of their joining. He gripped one firm thigh as he thrust deeper, almost gritting his teeth against the pleasure that surged as he came.

Sam cried out, reaching for and gripping Al's hand as the other man fell on over him, his cock still halfway buried. He gulped past a breath as Al pulled out of him, wanting nothing more than the nearness and reality of his presence. Al cuddled up next to him as close as he could, Sam wrapping his arms around the slight body, pressing his lips against the warm neck once.

Eyelids growing heavy, Sam leaned into his lover's body, letting Al's warm, rocking motion settle him down. "I'm so sleepy. Damn it, Al, I don't want to fall asl...asleep on you."

"Let me just hold you like this, and sleep, Sam." Al brushed his lips along the very tip of his lover's ear, reinforcing his love for this precious man by holding him as tight as he could. "Sleep," he soothed, smiling gently as the other man's eyes closed, his breath dropping into an easy rest.

The phone rang for what seemed the fifth or sixth time. Grudgingly, Sam awoke, brushing the back of his hand against his slumbering friend's cheek before leaving the bed. Padding into the living room, he snatched up the phone, hoping the party was still on the line.

An hour later, Sam could barely withhold his excitement. Dr. Kevin Drayton, a friend and colleague, the man he and Al had worked with at StarBright, and had developed the Imaging Chamber with, had news for him. His institute, Holitechnics, Inc. had inquired into practical application of the holographic technique used on Project Quantum Leap. It had been mentioned during the press conference, but Sam had never dreamed that they might receive such an offer for development. Almost unlimited funding, from a private party who was curious and wanted a practical demonstration of the Imaging unit's abilities.

He caught himself practically pacing a ditch in the parquet flooring, and tried his best to calm down. Suddenly, he felt ravenously hungry, and went to the kitchen in search of food. The refrigerator had many assorted possibilities, peanut butter and jelly being the most interesting of the lot. Snatching the jar, he dumped a good amount of strawberry preserves directly into the peanut butter and started eating the mess with a spoon.

"Gross!"

"Al! We've got a backer!" Sam turned on his friend in delight. "Can you believe it? Kevin Drayton called and..." He frowned, noting the greenish tinge to his friend's complexion. "You feeling okay?" Setting the jar down on the counter, the doctor in him took over, his slender fingers pressing over Al's skin, checking for temperature. "Elevated. Is it your stomach?"

"No, it's watching you eat that mess. God, Sam." Al eased the hand away, kissing the palm before releasing it. "It seems like every time I used that thing in the early days I came down with flu symptoms. Only lasts a day or two. Don't go getting that look on your face, kid. It's nothing, and I'm more than willing to spend the day in bed. What's this about funding?"

"They want to check us out, Al. Kevin is so excited, and says it's the deal of a lifetime with a person who really cares about the future. Certainly, he's business minded, and wants to apply the usage of the I.C. into something practical, but he's interested in EarthSafe, as well."

"EarthSafe. Our new Project." Al's eyes were a warm glow, pleased at Sam's excitement. "Who is this Santa Claus?"

"Drayton couldn't say, not now. The man wants to scope us out, meet us. I trust Drayton, and gave him our address so this guy can come over and talk with you. You are our business manager, right?" Al nodded. "Anyway, Kevin was the only one who refused interviews when the stuff hit the fan, Al. We owe him so much."

"Slow down, Sam. I'm excited as you are, but we have to slow this wagon down or the horses will get run over." He felt decidedly ill, but not as bad as he had initially. "When is this person arriving here?"

"Kevin is calling back later. I told him you were still sleeping, and he wants to arrange things with the business mind; of which both he and I are not. I guess you just got named administrator. We have the controlling interest in Imaging, Al, and we make the final decisions on who backs us. This guy is really into what we're going to do. It just sounds too good to be true."

"It does, and that's what bothers me."

After listening to Sam ramble for three straight hours, the kid finally wound down enough to go back to bed. Then, Al was wide awake, wanting more than anything to speak to his friend at the Pentagon to get the real low down on why Project Quantum Leap had been mowed into the ground. He found, to his chagrin and overwhelming fury that not only had the Project been basically dissolved, but so had security. The virtual army they had at their disposal was down to two men, protecting their property from intruders, but unable to sustain the perimeter as they'd done with a full thirty personnel.

Knowing it would be one of his last tirades as Admiral Calavicci, Al made the man at the other end of the phone cringe, giving him full tilt every word he knew in the book, and not letting anything slip past him. For emphasis, he slammed the phone on the table several times, pleased at the sound of dead air from the other end until his so-called friend spoke. Apologetically, and not a little nervously, he offered to check into the still viable security problem and promised to call back later.

"Did you break it?"

"Not quite," Al managed, turning to face Sam. "I thought you were asleep."

"You didn't expect me to remain unconscious during that!" Sidling up to his lover, Sam gently rubbed the tight muscles on the very base of Al's neck, the other man leaning into the massaging fingers. "Not good news?"

"Nothing. Just that they took whatever vestiges of security we had left, along with everything else. Good thing the reporters have backed off, or we'd have real problems. We might even have to...ah, hire private security for a while, until we're sure the...urn...heat is off. God, Sam, that feels so good."

"I know something that will feel even better."

Dark eyes twinkling, Al tilted his head back to meet the heated gaze. "I bet

you do, kid."


	26. Chapter 26

They made love again, falling asleep in a frantic tangle of legs and arms. It was almost a relief to have no Project to wake to the next day, or to worry about the debriefing, since long over.

Sam awoke at nearly eleven p.m., using the bathroom and making sure the house was shut down for the night before collapsing next to Al in the bed. The older man was awake, smiling like a contented cat as Sam pulled the blankets over him and laid at his side. It was a warm, comforting feeling to know Sam was relaxing in the best way he could. Drayton had yet to return his call, and until then, time was theirs to do with as they wished.

Straddling Al's torso, Sam gripped both of the smaller man's wrists, taking and possessing his mouth, putting every bit of love he held for him in the kiss. He laid atop the spare form, pressing his crotch against Al's aroused organ, smiling as he felt the warmth and solid mass there. It was like a honeymoon, of sorts, making love the whole day long, and into the night, no interruptions or...

"Ah..."

The small, soft intake of breath made Sam pause, freezing and turning to confront whoever was standing in the doorway of the bedroom. "Uh..."

"Tina?" Al gasped, staring in open mouthed amazement and shock.

"Al?" The little blonde's eyes were wide and deeply blue, her tanned skin paling at the sight she'd confronted.

Snatching at the blanket, Sam managed to pull most of it over himself before falling back to his side of the bed. She was willowy and perfect, down to the last molecule, and, right now, looking angry enough to blow a missile silo.

"You let him on top!" The words snapped from her mouth, Al looking guilty and still astonished. "Never me, you asshole. I wanted to surprise you." She laughed shortly, the sound completely without mirth. "Some surprise. I could kill you."

She swept from the room, Al motioning Sam to stay for a moment and following her as quickly as he could manage, pulling a robe on as he did so. The sound of breaking glass made Sam's head snap up, the moment Al left the room. It was enough for Sam to snatch up his own robe and run to follow his friend into whatever situation had developed. This one was a doozy.

"Bastard!" Tina's eyes slitted, fists braced at her side as she confronted Al. "Didn't waste a moment, did you?"

"Tina, baby, you have to understand..."

"Baby, my ass." She glanced at Sam for a moment. "Actually, his ass." Seeing the worried expression on Sam's face, she felt herself wilt, knowing his concern was focused on her. "Sorry. I guess I should've called. Kansas City was boring, Al. I sort of missed you. That, and I wanted to tell you it was over, just plain out, because..." She sighed, letting Al take her in his arms and hold her gently.

"It was over a long time ago, Tina." Al was well aware of Sam's eyes on him, worried and waiting. "Before Sam came back we both knew. You told me once, that I was happier with him than I was with you. That you wanted me to be happy. I'm sorry you had to find out this way. You still have a key to the house, and I never expected..."

"I saw the light in the bathroom and heard sounds." Tina grinned. "It sounded like someone having a good time, and since it was coming from Sam's room...I thought maybe you were out. Your bed was empty."

"Haven't used it for a while." Al glanced over at Sam as the other man sat down, both arms crossed over his chest. "We've got a kind of commitment, honey. You know in your heart what you and I had together wasn't marriage."

"This is?" She pulled away from Al's arms and slumped on one of the stools, staring at the two men. In all the years she'd known him, Al had never once mentioned being gay, or interested in men outside of the friendship he held for Sam Beckett. "You two have something permanent? Is that it?"

"Yes." Al pressed his lips together, saying the words and feeling the support emanating from Sam. He reached out and took the other man's hand in his, the return grip strong and firm. "We're happy, Tina."

"Yeah, just the picture of marital bliss," she replied sarcastically.

"Now one minute..."

"Don't 'one minute' me. Al Calavicci! I gave up three years for you, held you when Mr. Wizard knocked around in Time. Finally, I got to the point where I couldn't share, when I got sick of waiting five or six days for you to come home because Sam needed you. The least you could've done now is called and said, maybe, that it was over, instead of letting me walk in on this!"

"If it's any consolation," Sam said quietly, his hand still firmly in Al's. "I started the whole thing. Al told me you'd left and it sounded permanent. Neither of us did anything to intentionally hurt you, Tina."

"You. I should've figured as much. You were never much into dating."

"That's enough." Al's voice was nearly a shout. "As a fighter you were never fair, just a royal ass bitch."

"You were a great teacher!"

"In about ten seconds I'm going to knock both your heads together." Sam's calm voice made the two combatants pause. "Tina, correct me if I'm wrong, but you came here to settle things with Al?"

"For good." Tina wrapped her arms around her body, smiling slightly. "I've got another commitment, someone who cares. Marriage, the works."

"That's great," Al said quickly, inwardly relieved that Sam had deflated a potentially volatile situation. "Who's the guy?"

"It's not important. What matters is that he's reliable, and willing to spend time with me and not a Project, or someone else. He's mine and wants to have kids and a life. Damn it, with you we had fun, lots of things, but never the commitment." She glanced apologetically over at Sam. "It isn't you, pal, never was. I sort of knew something deeper was between you two, and let it slide, thinking, I guess, that you might not come home. Isn't that awful, wanting you gone? I did, for a while. Couldn't live with myself after a while, thinking that way, and then, well..." Sighing, she glanced over at her former lover. "We fought. Tooth and nail. That last one..."

"You took out my tail lights. Good aim."

"And then I left. Cleared my stuff out and took a plane to mother's. Spent a lot of time alone, getting my head together. I didn't call you because I knew you were home. You guys have gotten more press coverage than the president, although lately it's sort of disappeared. You were good for me, Al, and I wanted to give you a proper goodbye before I began my new life. And..." She shrugged. "If being with Sam Beckett makes you happy, and that's a first, let me tell you, then so be it. Christ, in the six years we were together I never made you happy. Don't say I did, because there was always that little bit of fear in your eyes, not trusting me. It's gone now. You didn't apologize when I came out here, or offer some kind of explanation, just stated the facts. None of that bullshit deception you used when you'd bed one of your bimbos and try to sweet talk your way out of it. Surprised the hell out of me."

Glancing nervously over at Sam, Al remembered his frequent infidelities with women, most notably one in particular who wanted to write his life story. The younger man's expression was indefinable, carefully neutral. His body language, however, was telltale. Arms wrapped around torso, introspective, but ever alert to every nuance of conversation.

"Which you did frequently," Tina continued, standing and snatching her coat from where she'd thrown it over a chair in her haste as entering the house. "I have to leave, appointments and all that."

"You have a car I presume?" Al asked, trying valiantly to keep the coldness from his voice.

"Of course. He's waiting out in front." She hesitated with her hand on the door and turned for a moment. "Sam?"

Beckett's head tilted upwards, his attention totally centered on the woman.

"Take care of him. Put up with his little 'habits'. Good luck."

As the door closed, Al grimaced. "What the hell did she mean by that?"

"I think you know." Sam sighed, shaking his head. "Did you really cheat on her? I want the truth."

"Not as frequently as she'll have you believe. Hell, her and Gooshie..."

"This isn't about her and Goosh, Al. You. Are you going to do that to me? I don't think so, but I need a reassurance from you."

Al hated the question the moment the words left Sam's mouth. It was something he'd not thought about once since he and the kid had began their relationship. Other women hadn't turned his head since Sam had came along, although he had to admit there had been times when he'd one or two harmless passes at his aide without thinking. "I don't have to answer that," he managed, turning to the kitchen. "Want some coffee?"

"No, damn it, I want an answer. I'm not going to be your maid in waiting, obediently sulking every time you have an affair, and you expecting me to want you when you come home. Forget it. I'm not Tina, and I'm not about to put up with that for six years."

Back to his lover, Al braced against the counter, trembling. "You heard what I told her? That we have a commitment?" He laughed shortly, a harsh sound. "She used to kid me that our affair had a swinging door that I kept using, in and out of the bedroom to another one. Damn it, she was right. I used to come running back and find her here, pissed as hell. You were around for a few of those, before you Leaped. Duck out the door the second we started shouting and sweep up the broken glass afterward."

"I remember that." Sam grinned in remembrance. "She took out the patio doors that time."

"I didn't blame her, but then...then, I couldn't help myself. She wasn't my true... whatever. I felt it was okay to cheat on her, because what we had was good sex and fun, no commitment. That only came up, towards the end. I was so buried in the Project, and worrying about you, she came second, then third, then...she didn't exist. God, Sam, I'm not going out on you, or screw around with anyone. Maybe, well, I'll flirt a little with someone once or twice, but it'll be harmless. Meaning nothing."

"I can accept that." Sam pushed off the chair and strode to Al's side, wrapping his arms around the slight body. "Just remember this," he whispered, his breath touching Al's ear. "If I ever find out you've messed around, I'll kick your teeth down your throat."

"Sam..." Grinning, Al snuggled into the embrace, feeling the warm lips on his neck. "Did you see the look on her face..."

The phone rang suddenly. Not wanting to move out of Sam's arms for a moment, Al reached for the phone. "Ah...Hello?" Wandering fingers strolled into his robe, parting the silk and playing with his lightly haired chest, Sam's mouth moving along his collarbone. "Daystrom? Ug...Sam...!" At the mention of the designers name, Sam backed off, smiling mischievously. "No...he's right here. When? I guess so. What's his name? Oh. Fine. Thanks."

"What?" Sam pounced the moment Al rang off. "Did we get the funding?"

"I'll put that sentence right next to 'Oh Boy' on your list of most frequently said phrases! He's coming tomorrow, the bigwig. Daystrom isn't giving us a name but said to expect him sometime around two p.m. Don't get too hysterical. He doesn't want a practical demonstration, just talk at this point."

"I'm getting a headache."

"For real?" Al eyes widened in alarm.

"Not that kind of headache." Sam brushed the worry from Al's face, taking his mouth with his, and kissing him hard. "Distract me," Sam breathed, breaking the contact.


	27. Chapter 27

Chapter 17

"Get up Sam!"

"No." The younger man wound the blankets tighter around his spare form, burying his head in the pillow.

"That bigwig is going to be here in an hour. You gotta get up, kid." It wasn't working. They'd been up far too late, mostly his own fault. Somehow, he couldn't get enough of his kid, being held by him, talking, even that late night swim and playing in the pool until... "Sam, get your ass up! Now!"

Rousing, Sam crawled from his warm nest and mumbled some obscenity under his breath. Al bundled him off to the bathroom and slammed around the kitchen while his friend showered, feeling grumpy and anxious. If this appointment didn't work out, he didn't want to think about what Sam would go through. EarthSafe was their new baby, and important as hell. They had to convince this guy that their goals were valid. Right now, according to Daystrom, all this man was interested in was the Imaging Chamber, but intensely curious about anything Dr. Beckett was involved in, Project-wise. The man also had security clearance up the boot and beyond.

Sam entered the kitchen presently, working his canes and wincing. "Quite a workout last night," he joked, slumping on one of the stools.

"Think of it this way, Sam. You won't need therapy for a couple of days."

"Very funny."

"You're not dressed for company, Sam." Al glanced up, surveying the t-shirt and jean ensemble Sam wore. "As much as I enjoy the sight of you in that outfit, I don't think it's appropriate for meeting our guest, kid."

"Al, you can handle it." There was just the tiniest amount of shake in Sam's voice, sipping at the tea his friend had set in front of him. "You've always dealt with financial transactions, and you know everything about the Imaging Chamber. If he's interested in EarthSafe, then I can write him up a proposal."

"Well, you're at least going to meet him, Mr. Genius." Al inwardly agreed that at financial maneuvering Sam wasn't at his best. "That's part of the plan, as spelled out by Daystrom. This Santa Claus is very intrigued by everything you've done, read up on the theory, the works. He wants an introduction, and you will be available, for at least that."

"You sound peeved."

"Almost." Al's voice came up on the end of the word, his back to Sam. "I don't mind dealing with the guy, but it would be kind of unique to have you around for a change. Hell, while you were leaping, I did handsprings to keep the Project on line. You can't imagine how many times I wished you were there to back me up. So, I'm being honest."

"I'm not going anywhere." Sam dipped his head. "I'm sorry, Al."

"It's okay, kiddo. Just don't go far. I sort of have this feeling you're going to have trouble with meeting strangers for a while, after what you've been through. And trusting people. Just an introduction, Sam. I know you can handle that. "

"I sound like a damned prima donna."

"Naw. You want toast or cereal-or both? After that workout last night, you must be starved."

"Not really."

"You're kidding me. We didn't have much of a dinner last night, and I'm going to make sure you eat something now."

"Toast, then," Sam sighed, wiping one hand over his face.

"It's back, isn't it?"

"What?"

"The damned headache. You've been limping around this morning like Grudge's Ghost." Al slammed the prescription bottle on the counter in front of Sam. "This is a subtle hint. Take your pills."

Glaring, Sam obediently swallowed two capsules, chasing them with a bite of toast and cooling tea. "I have to call Greg," he said between chews. "We have to schedule therapy."

"I guess things have cooled down to the point where he can come over again."

"That has nothing to do with it."

"Sam..."

"I'm building a weight room-adjacent to the pool."

"You have to be kidding!" Al's dark eyes were aghast. "There's no room for a..."

"It'll be private, and enclosed, open to the pool if we want it to be. I've been thinking we need something like that, instead of working out at your club, like we used to. I'll get a StairMaster, some weight machines..."

"We'll discuss it," Al said, shaking his head. "Might be a good idea, at home and all that, but time, Sam."

"If this man doesn't finance us I'll have all the time in the world to do things like that. We're financially secure, no matter whether we lease the Imaging technique."

"He'd be nuts not to run with it, kid." He grinned, setting a bowl of cereal in front of Sam, sliced fruit over the top. "You don't make a move without that. I'll figure out something for lunch."

"I'm going out to work on my Jeep. It's beginning to sound strange."

Al grinned, remembering how much his friend knew about engines. Like most things, Sam was inclined to be an expert on mechanics as well as everything else. The prototype vehicle he drove had been built by both he and Sam, and he'd taught the kid everything he knew about engines, from changing points to tire realignment. "It's old and beat up." He took a drink of coffee, wincing at the taste. This decaf was awful, but he had to start following orders, at least for Sam's sake. "Why don't you buy yourself something nice and new? I'll help you pick it out."

"I don't want a screaming red sports car, or one of those new hover jobs. No way. Something with four-wheel drive, and built to go off reading if I want to. Anyway," Sam added, eyes downcast. "I don't want to get rid of my Jeep. I've had it since we started PQL."

"Sentimental attachment to a hunk of junk."

"I'm wondering what you'd do if I said we should junk that pool table of yours, gathering dust in the garage. Sentimental attachment, indeed."

"Not that!" Al said, in mock horror.

"You're damned lucky I love you, and allow that monstrosity in the garage. What we really need is a game room for all of your toys. Most of which, I might add, are stored in the garage, over the rafters. That big screen TV that we don't even use, still in it's box, all that stuff."

"I have an excellent idea," Al reiterated, circling the counter to stand beside the other man. "We could get rid of the piano and put the TV in the living room. Or, better yet, remove that and your stupid computer which I stumble over every time I have to enter this house."

"What!" In mock horror, Sam turned his wide gaze on Al. "Not the computer!"

"Don't you dare deny that every time I slam my shin into that thing you don't snicker. I'm a witness, on more than one occasion." Swiping the hand towel from the hook, he whacked Sam once over the head.

"Hey!" Sam crumpled to the floor, holding his arms over his head. "God, Al, I..."

"Damn it, I'm sorry, Sam." Kneeling by the fallen man, Al wrapped his arms

around the trembling shoulders. "You've got a headache and I do something like..."

"Psyche!" A scampish grin crossed Sam's face, jerking Al down to his level and planting a loving kiss on his lips.

"Sam," Al breathed. "You little terror." Al said the words tenderly, brushing his fingers against the warm skin of Sam's cheek for a moment before rising. "We have people coming, kid, and as much as I'd like to take you right here on the floor, we'd better cool off. And clean house, before you get all preoccupied."

"Clean house?" An exaggerated sigh escaped Sam's lips. The place was a wreck, having not been tidied up in some time, what with the Project and being in and out like they'd been.

"You know." Al paused, wondering how Sam had survived in time and not managed to learn how to clean up after himself. "Vacuuming, dusting, that sort of stuff." His voice switched quickly to a chiding tone. "First, you pick up the junk that's lying around and put it in Mr. Garbage Can, or Mr. Recycling Bin. Then you take Mr. Duster and..."

"Al! " He took his cane in his hand, tapping it gently on the floor, trying to elicit sympathy from his friend.

"Right. Hah. Not this time." Tossing a cloth in Sam's direction, the other man deftly caught it, making a face. "It's been sprayed with that pump stuff. Dust. I'11 handle the sweeper and things."

"Nice and domestic, aren't we?" Sam mumbled.

"Just like being married, except you and I don't start screaming at each other." Al gave the kid a swat on the butt, directionalizing him towards the living room, inwardly delighted by the grin that strayed across Sam's expressive face.

Tidying up the kitchen wasn't much of a chore. Shove dishes in the dishwasher and set it to mumbling, mop up floor. . . Not wanting Sam to think he was spying, he gave a few capricious glances in the kid's direction, throwing his hands up at what he saw. Marriage, nothing. It was like living with a little kid at times!

"Sam!"

The other man looked up from the hearth where he'd been batting the dust cloth around to his heart's content, not really concentrating on the job at hand. "Well?"

"You call this cleaning?" Al picked the empty popcorn bags that had been dumped on the coffee table God knew when with forefinger and thumb. "You toss these before dusting the table, and for Christ's sake, move things! Don't just dust around the junk!"

Shrugging, Sam returned to his chore, making a big display of lifting the objects on the mantle and dusting underneath, exaggerating every little movement for Al's attention. He hated cleaning. "Didn't we have a housekeeper before I leaped?"

"I had to let her go, Sam," Al answered, dragging the vacuum cleaner from it's place in the pantry. "She drank and Tina hated her guts because she had the hots for me. "

"Did you take advantage of that?"

Freezing in mid motion, Al frowned. "Yeah, I guess I did, kid. A few times." Avoiding Sam's look, he unwound the electrical cord from the gadget, trying to remember where the electrical outlet was.

"It's over here," Sam said softly, taking the plug from Al's fingers and sticking it into the receptacle. His eyes met Al's, his expression only loving, not berating or angry. "Thanks for telling the truth."

The sound of the motor filled the room. Al sighed, pushing it over the one and only rug in front of the hearth.

They finished cleaning the house, satisfied that it smelled good, as well as looked more like a house than a dumping ground for slobs. Al shooed Sam out to the garage, knowing that Sam wanted out and away before their guest arrived.

He drove in just as Al was pouring himself another cup of that abominable coffee. He watched from the window, eyebrows raising at the expensive rental 'hum mobile' that pulled into the driveway. The man that stepped from the driver's seat was slightly built, the sun glinting off his sunglasses as he peered at the house. Al opened the front door and ushered the man inside to the comparative coolness of the interior.

"Dreadfully hot," the man said, smiling brightly as Al closed the door behind him.

"Not too bad, not yet." Al surveyed the man for a moment before offering his hand and shaking the other man's. "Admiral Calavicci."

"Edward..." The man pulled off his sunglasses, revealing quite blue eyes. "Edward St. John."

The two men discussed business affairs, Al describing as best he could, the capabilities of the Imaging System and impressed at the other man's cool demeanor and pleasant down to earth attitude. It wasn't often that the wealthy displayed the polite, ordinary attitude that Edward had. Not in the least ostentatious. As they spoke, Al found himself liking the guy, despite his big bucks, finding someone nearly his age that he could conduct business with and not feel he was being talked down to.

"I admire Dr. Beckett, quite a lot, actually," Edward said, sipping at his third cup of coffee, in deference to the tea Al had originally offered him. "This is very good, by the way. Where is the doctor?"

"He's a little uncomfortable with strangers," Al said quickly. "He's working in the garage, and wants to meet you. when we've finished discussing the I.C."

"I was sold on the idea when I originally spoke to Dr. Daystrom. An extraordinary man, and lovely wife, Carol. Told me an amazing story, about the beginnings of holography, how he met both you and Dr. Beckett. You are quite interesting yourself, Admiral. Several degrees, I've been told, in engineering and astrophysics. I admire those that take their schooling seriously. My son, for example." He sighed. "Acting. He plans to make a success of it, and I don't doubt him for a moment. I believe in happiness first, always."

"So you're married?" Al asked, settling into a chair across from Edward.

"Certainly not. Vulgar tradition. I've lived with Sara for twenty-five years. A perfectly acceptable arrangement, just friends since living in the same household, as you Yanks say. No offense, of course. Admiral. You've been married several times, or so I've heard."

With a chuckle, Al shook his head. He sort of liked this guy. "And none of them worked. Marriage as a rule, should be banned. It messes everything up, and you've been smart enough to realize that."

"Thank you. Would it be possible for me to meet Dr. Beckett?"

"He's going to like you," Al said, still grinning as he rose from the chair. "Let's go out and see if we can pull him out from under his Jeep."

"Jeep?"

As they walked to the garage door. Al explained. "A four-wheel drive vehicle. He's had it for years, and it's acting up. I'm trying to convince him to trade it in for something a little, well, nicer, but..."

"Then the elegant auto parked in front of your home is yours?"

"Sure is. You have good taste." The garage was well lit, Sam's sneaker clad feet peeking out from under the red abomination. "Hey, kiddo, we have a guest. Come on out."

Grabbing his cane, which laid beside the dolly he lay on, Sam slid out from under the Jeep, blinking at the comparatively brighter light. When he focused, his mouth dropped down to his toes as he took in Edward.

"Dr. Beckett?"

"Sam?" Al crouched down by his suddenly paling friend. "This is Edward St. John. Sam?" There was no reaction from Sam except the fear that flooded his expression the moment his mouth closed. "Talk to me?"

"That's the guy that took your place..." Sam allowed Al to help him to an upright position, his eyes not leaving Edward for a moment.

"Have we met before. Dr. Beckett?" Edward asked kindly, bending to Sam's level. "I'm most certain we haven't."

"Uh, no." Sam wiped his hand off on his pants leg before shaking Edward's. Struggling to his feet, he pulled the cane up and leaned on it heavily, wondering if his dizziness was caused by the new meds or the shock of seeing the man that had replaced Al that time he'd...died. That one awful Leap. He attempted to speak, but found the words clogged in his throat. Christ, he must appear a total idiot to the man. This wasn't, he determined solidly, the man that had replaced Al. Maybe in another reality, but not now, not in this timeline that had been so smoothly fixed by he, Al-and Bingo.

"Sam are you okay?" Al frowned, wondering how bad off his friend was when it came to strangers.

"I'm...fine." Sam readjusted himself on the cane, staring uncertainly at the newcomer. "How did your discussion go?"

"Agreeably," Edward said smoothly. "I've decided to invest. Surely, I would like to discuss this EarthSafe program, as well. One of my major interests is preservation of the rain forests, and repairing the ozone layer, which I've heard from certain parties is one of your primary concerns as well."

"I'm, uh. really a mess." Sam grimaced, feeling crummy inside as well as out. "Maybe after I wash up we can discuss these proposals and..." He turned and quickly moved across the garage, up the short stoop, and into the house.

"Sorry, Edward." Al glanced at his retreating friend, feeling partly concerned, partly ready to kill. "Normally, Sam is one of the most attentive - well, not exactly attentive, but polite, very polite people in the world. Why don't you come in and have another cup of coffee. I'll go check on him. You know these temperamental genius's."

"Indeed I do." Edward smiled softly.


	28. Chapter 28

"Sam? Are you okay in there?"

Al's soft voice on the other side of the door quelled the panic in his gut a bit. "I'm fine," he said, clearly hearing the quake in his voice.

"You don't sound it." Al's tone was just loud enough for him to hear it, in deference, perhaps, to their guest. "Either you open this door or I'm coming in."

Turning the knob, Sam unlocked the door and allowed his friend access. He let the water run in one of the twin vanities, lathering and re-lathering his hands to wash away the grease.

"What is it? He's a pretty nifty little guy," Al said softly, closing the door behind him, not really caring what it might look like to their guest. He'd left him sitting in the living room, reading up the old dossier Sam had written years ago about the I.e. "What did you mean out in the garage?"

"That nifty guy was the one who replaced you when you died. Al! " Sam blurted, slamming the faucets off. "He scared the hell out of me, after remembering all that last night. It isn't his fault, obviously, but I'm a little freaked, okay?"

"This guy? He was the Observer?"

"Stranger things than that happened. Tina was married to Gushie. Ziggy called Alpha..." Sam rolled his eyes. "Another reality, I guess."

"And, kiddo, in this reality, that man is real friendly, and he's going to help us. All you need do is propose EarthSafe in those earnest tones you're infamous for and he'll bend over backwards to please. Never saw a guy with that much money and so much common sense. Knows a good idea when he hears it. It doesn't bother me that he was Observer in that alternate, whatever. If first impressions are any indication, he probably took damned good care of you."

"He wasn't around long enough for me to find that out. Probably six hours total, off and on." His voice shook with the emotion that welled up in him. "Every time I see that face, be it in my memory, or now, I'm reminded of what it felt like to lose you, even for that short amount of time. I was terrified, and so lost, Al. I spent that night trying to remember everything you ever told me of yourself. Cried for you, when I was finally left alone."

"I'm here now, and that's what matters." Al wrapped his arm around the slim waist, letting the tawny head rest on his shoulder for a moment. Their embrace reflected on the wall size mirror, tall and not so, side by side. "What a pair, kid. You ready to go out there and face that ghost? I think so."

Edward rose from the couch as the two men entered. Beckett looked considerably cleaner and more agreeable than his first impression had let the man believe. "Are you feeling well, Dr. Beckett?"

"I'm fine, Mr. St. John."

"Edward, please." The earnest face peered at Sam with a touch of concern. "I hope you don't find this undue, but I noticed your cane. Is that an injury incurred while you were traveling in time?"

"You know about that," Sam grimaced, sitting in one of the easy chairs, aware of Al's watchful gaze.

"I have government clearance, quite a high level. In another reality, perhaps, I could've been actively involved in your Project. I have degrees in physics and chemical sciences." If he noticed the audible gasp from Sam, he made no mention of it. "It fascinates me, and I hope to discuss it at length with you someday, if possible."

"I have limited motor function on my left side, but it's a temporary condition," Sam said quickly, covering his discomfiture.

"He's coming around." Al was tempted to simply sit on the floor at Sam's feet and did so. It didn't seem to faze the Englishman a bit. "In a few months he'll be 100%, guaranteed."

"He has the best of care," Edward said, seeing the kinship of the two men, quite correctly a team that was rare, indeed. "Please tell me about EarthSafe, Dr. Beckett."

Sam gradually found it easy to speak to the man, the lingering deja vu dissipating after a few minutes conversation. He told him of the rapid necessity to preserve the rain forests, the radical danger of the ozone hole, how he had ideas about ratifying all of these problems, with the proper funding, of course.

"And you will have my financial support. I trust whatever you work on. Dr. Beckett, and you. Admiral."

The meeting ended, Edward promising to be in touch with them in the next twenty-four hours to wrap whatever loose ends there were to be tied off. As soon as he pulled out of the driveway and was gone, Al shut the door with a thoughtful expression on his face.

"Now." Sam said, going into the kitchen, poking his head into the refrigerator. "We wait?"

"For a day. We both need the break, Sam. We'll need a new locale, just like starting over."

"Great!" Sam punctuated the word with a slam of the refrigerator door, a bottle of icy cold spring water in his hand. "I'm going out, no offense. The Jeep needs a mechanic, more than what I can do." He caned his way across the floor and gave Al a soft kiss on the cheek, his eyes crinkled into laugh lines. "I'll be right back."

"Okay." Al felt uneasy about Sam leaving on his own, and almost wanted to suggest he accompany him.

"Why don't you just kick back for the afternoon. Read or watch TV in the room, and relax?" Sam's hands gripped the other man's shoulders, grinning down at him. "Can you remember the last time you did that? Or call Verbena over and we'll have a cookout on the grill? God, Al. I haven't felt this good since we started Quantum Leap."

"Now, Sam," Al cautioned. "This is all in the planning stages, kiddo. No promises yet."

"It's going to work; I can feel it, Al." Practically crushing the older man to him, Sam's breath puffed in his ear for a moment. "We're working again."

"You're right about relaxing, and I've been meaning to call Verbena. She's probably out of a job about now."

"Give her a call, Al. I'll be back in an hour or so."

Taking Sam's advice, Al slipped into bermuda shorts and a loud print shirt and called Verbena. She arrived, dumping groceries on the table and peering into the concoction Al was stirring in a small bowl.

"Did you get the steaks?"

"Yes, and you owe me twenty-two, ninety-five. I'm out of work, as if you don't remember." She leaned against the counter, flinching as Al preferred the bowl in her direction. "What is it?"

"Killer jalapeno dip. Fry the insides out of a..."

"And you, with an ulcer!" she chastised, sticking the very tip of her finger in the greenish glop. To her intense amazement the stuff was fantastic.

"What kind of shirt is that?"

"Yours looks like a color TV on the blink." She made a face, glancing down at her loose t-shirt. "Iguana Con...1978, or was it '79? Science fiction. That's one of the reasons Sam said he hired me for the Project. You were all fired against having a staff psychiatrist, until he conned you into it. Even then he had you wrapped around his little finger."

"Nobody has me around their little finger," Al chided. Suddenly a growl filled the air, intensifying as it neared the house, the sound nearly rattling the open windows. "What the hell..."

The two rushed from the house, gaping at the sight that roared into the driveway. The kid was grinning from ear to ear, revving the engine for all it was worth.

"A MOTORCYCLE?"

"I got a great deal!" Sam enthused, pressing the toggle on the handle and shutting the engine down. "See, I brought the Jeep in, and they said they could fix it, but there's going to be a wait. The guy had this buddy, an ex-Vet who'd just bought a new bike. He was disabled in 'Nam, lost his left arm and some use of his leg. It's completely handicap ready. I can take all this stuff off and modify the bike when I recover."

"I don't know, Sam..."

"I thought you'd be thrilled. It's a Harley. The Rolls Royce of bikes, the

guy said, and I have to agree." He shifted attention from Al to Verbena. "What do you think?"

"It's interesting." She circled the bike, taking in the beat up machine and the delighted man that sat upon it. The fact that Sam had done this independently of Al, thinking for himself instead of running for advice, meant more than the bike itself.

"It's a 450." Al crouched, squinting to glance look at the engine. "Too big. And where the hell is your helmet?"

"Didn't need one. I went slow."

"Slow, my ass. You drive like a..."

"Slow, as in careful."

"I bet you went nuts the minute you hit the straight-away. Not that I blame you. This is a nice bike, Sam. Great, in fact." His voice changed just a fraction, rising as he snatched at the inside of Sam's left leg. "What the hell is this?"

Reddening, Sam glanced down, jerking his leg from Al's grasp. There was a rend in the jean material, from ankle to knee, flesh beneath road burned, but not bleeding. "I took a little spill when I was getting the feel of the thing. In the parking lot. It's been a while since I've been on a bike, you know."

"You're not in a goddamn bike gang, Sam." Rising from the gravel, Al felt his anger rise in him like a warning wave. "I'm not objecting to you buying the thing;

that's your decision, and I'll stand by that. You still can't walk for shit, let alone handle a motorcycle. I can't allow it! Not yet."

"Al, I'll be..."

"You're going to say 'I'll be fine' and con me into letting you scoot around on that monstrosity. You'll beg and grumble and eventually I'll accept it, but not the way you're moving around right now. Not more than two days ago, hell this morning, you were hobbling around on that cane. Once you get rid of the cane, I'll let you ride the bike. Where the hell is your cane?"

"In the Jeep. I'm not using it anymore." Stubbornness was creeping into the tone of Sam's voice, feeling more like a child being chided than a man with a new purchase. As much as he loved Al, he was beginning to get just a little pissed off. "You're telling me to get off my butt and recover, take my meds, and do my therapy. Damn it, Al, this is part of it."

"I have to agree with Sam, Admiral."

"Now, Verbena, don't go getting your foot in this!" Al said wamingly.

"I have every right to get involved in this discussion. You two should reach a compromise, but allow him this freedom. Limit your travel on it, Sam, so you don't give your friend here a stroke, but go out and let it fly when you need the time away. "

"I can live with that," Sam replied, trying to push and shove the anger aside. "You really have to stop worrying so much, Al."

"Get a goddamn helmet, and some body gear before you take one more ride on that thing. Use my car if you have to, but get the protective stuff or I'll lock it up, so help me." Al turned and strode into the house, hands stuffed in his pockets.

Grinning crookedly, Sam climbed off the bike and allowed Verbena to help him push it into the garage where the Jeep had formally been parked. "I'm used to this," he said quietly. "It doesn't really bother me."

"Kind of feels good to have him around watching out for you, I'd bet." She smoothed her hand over the leather seat of the bike, grinning up at Sam's calm face. "You're really coming around, pal. Even I figured you and Al would be hard pressed living in the same quarters again, the way you two used to go at it before. Fights, nasty ones."

Shaking his head, Sam laughed softly. "Oh, we have a few, but nothing we can't resolve. I didn't have him for so long, and I can forgive things like what we just

saw. Sure, I was angry, and about to wring his neck, but then..."

She waited a moment for the rest, eyes wide. "Well?"

"We, well, make up, and it's fine. Compromise. Like we did just now." Sam limped over to the pile of tools he'd left strewn over the garage floor from fixing the Jeep, neatly depositing them in their chest and closing the lid. The sound of the door to the house opening made him lift his head.

"What the hell are you two talking about out here?"

"You," Sam replied quickly, smiling innocently.

"And Verbena doesn't believe a word of it. Greg was just on the phone, and he's coming over in a few."

"It's turning into a real party," Sam said, feeling open and warm, glad that he and Al had friends to celebrate their new Project with.

"I'm still wondering what you two were talking about." There was a touch of ire in his tone as he wandered over towards the others. "I still don't like this, Sam. No matter what she says, about how self-confident you feel now, and that stuff, I don't like the idea of you shooting the breeze on that thing. How's your leg?"

"C'mon. Al!" Annoyed at his friend's continued undue concern, Sam swept past him into the house, bracing against the walls as he moved. More and more, he found himself walking without assistance, but still the slight encumbrance of that stubborn left side made him frustrated. No more than Al did right now, he thought, slamming the bathroom door behind him. Stripping off the grease spotted blue jeans, he sat down on the closed toilet and examined the damage. The inside of his right leg was scabbed from knee to ankle, the skin stiff and painful. Using a cool, wet washcloth, he cleaned the injury, wincing as he hit a tender spot.

"God, Sam!"

The younger man's head snapped up at the sharp words, frowning. "It's nothing, " he said curtly, grabbing at the iodine and using his shaking left hand to apply it to the injury. "I can..."

Spots of red touched the floor as Al snatched the dropper from Sam's trembling fingers, kneeling next to him. "The bike," Al ground out. "As an issue, is over. The damned thing stays in the garage until..."

"I'm going out, when I want, damn it."

"Look at this shit, Sam!" Falling back on his butt, Al gestured at the skinned leg. "You want a broken neck the next time, or death?"

"I hardly construe falling in a parking lot and taking off a little skin a 'broken neck'. See, right now, bit by bit, you're getting into that mode that I absolutely hate! I'm not a baby, or an idiot, I've said that before. Don't push me to take that thing out again, because I will, and maybe I'll get pissed off enough to really get in an accident!"

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" Al went rigid, eyes flashing fire. "You'd wipe out on purpose? To prove something?"

Out in the living room, Verbena heard the rising voices from the bathroom. Half-tempted to go break up the fight, she decided it would be best if she just sat and let nature take it's course. A terrific string of expletives from Sam's usually pristine mouth, made her almost rise from the couch. No, she said firmly, sipping nervously at her iced tea, she had to let them fight this out without her unwelcome interference. The shouts built to a point where she believed either they'd both come out in full fury, or simply knock each other into the next galaxy. Then, as suddenly, dead silence.

The lack of shouting pressed against her ears for a moment, only the steady hum of the fan circulating air beat against her hearing. Maybe they've killed, each other. I'm the only witness. I hate going to court.

The door to the bath opened and she rose from the couch, her wondering gaze taking in the sight as she entered the doorway of the bedroom. If anything, the

look between them was a loving one, as if... Her thoughts hesitated a beat, realizing what she was witnessing was an intimate moment, and altogether common part of these two men's lives.

Practically tiptoeing back to the couch, she pretended to be occupied with one of the magazines that was spread across the coffee table when Al re-entered the room. Looking up brightly, she grinned at the other man. "Everything okay?"

"Just fine," Al said, sounding quietly pleased. "Sam wants to lie down for a while. He asked for you, to sit with him and talk. He, well, probably got too much sun. I'm going to start the grill, and maybe later you can make up some salad while I cook those steaks."

"Al?"

"Yes?"

"I don't have to ask if you are happy, because I've never seen you so satisfied in all the time I've known you. I. . . I want to say I'm happy for both you and Sam. It's good to see the two of you handling things like you did just now. I was wrong, saying how Sam was growing so dependent on you. It's really for the best, that you both depend on each other."

"Uh, well..." Al felt a warm blush touch his face, knowing Verbena was able to notice even the smallest details. "We fight, but I have to tell you 'Bena, he knows me so well that it ends up with him listening to me vent, then we reach a. . . compromise." His gaze was faraway for a moment, then quickly focused, his tone intense. "I think you can guess it's become more than friendship. Maybe you were right about that stuff when he leaped into Samantha."

"No, I wasn't, not then. That isn't the issue now. When two people love each other, it comes, whether you fight against it or not, it happens. You've made such a nice home here, the two of you. If you've found love with Sam, then I'm glad, because I've known how much he's loved you for a long time."

Clearing his throat, Al felt uncomfortable, but pleased, knowing one of their friends, besides Greg, knew he and Sam were together. "I get pissed at the kid, but when I blow off steam, we make up, in a constructive way. It's not like the past, biting my butt, because we talk things through, like this motorcycle problem. As much as I hate the idea, I've got to let him have his freedom with the bike, because he needs it. Sort of a way of defying the way he used to be. before he leaped. Mr. Conservative."

A quiet voice came from the bedroom, sounding weary, but cheerful. "Are you two going to talk all day, or is Verbena going to keep me company?"

"You'd better get in there." Al said, accepting the light hug from the woman. "He's getting restless."


	29. Chapter 29

Chapter 18

It was late when the house was finally locked up for the night. Sam fell on the bed, rolling over and curling up next to Al's warm body. It had been a good party, he thought with satisfaction, pleased that Greg had finally showed up with Kyle McGruder in tow. The security man had been assigned to White Sands and was talking about resignation, wanting more than what the military could offer him. Once he'd gotten over his initial nervousness at visiting the 'Admiral's' house, he'd had a long hard talk with Al, and had concreted his decision to leave the military. Sam had been so pleased with the way his lover had taken the man aside and given him time to speak to him.

"Thinking again?" Al mumbled. "You're making me nervous, Sam." He tapped his finger against the smooth cheekbone a moment, turning the gesture into a caress. "It's like you're in another world."

"Sometimes, it is." He caught the gentle hand, brushing his lips against the palm a moment before releasing. "Our friends are the best, and they care so much. And now, there's EarthSafe, and St. John. . .who still scares me a bit, let me tell you." His chuckle was more from nervousness than humor at the situation. "It's been a pretty full day. We've got a break now, for a week or so, and I thought..."

"Thinking again," Al added dryly.

"I can't help it. Would you mind if I invited Katie now? I've talked to her about coming here for your birthday and..."

"I hope you're not going to make a fuss over that!" Al growled out the words, resting his head on Sam's shoulder. "It's been one of the top guarded secrets of the Project since we began all this. I don't want some party, with a lot of people around, and presents, and that goddamn song. . .no way, pal. I'll disown you, and knock you across the block."

"No party, then." Disappointment filled Sam for a moment; wanting to celebrate his best friend's birthday in the biggest way possible had been on his list of things he really wanted to do. "But Katie. You love her, and she's dying to come out here, now. I can send the tickets right away and she'll be here. We can spend some quality time together."

"She'll kick your butt about that damned bike."

"Get off of that, would you?" He sighed as Al relaxed against him, his lips tightly closed. "It's enough that you love me, and care that much, but don't harp. It's becoming a real pain in the neck."

"Harping?" Al made a face, not liking the word or the implication. Maybe he was fussing far too much. "Okay, I'm over it. Call Katie, do what you will. I'll be happy to see the kid. It's been a while. She was down here, at the house a couple of times when you were leaping. Wanted to know what the hell was going on."

"She didn't tell me that."

"Tom wasn't around. . .then. She was head of household for a while. I hated lying to her, Sam. She's got this look in her eyes, like your Mom did, could see right through me, but didn't call me a liar, not right out. Your kid sister has some smarts, and she's one sharp lady. You know how she handles Tom. Like a pro, better'n I do."

"I'll call her tomorrow, then." Sam rolled over and rested his head on Al's chest, kissing him once before he felt the tide of sleep draw him under.

"Another lap, Sam." Greg cocked his head at the sorrowful look his patient gave him from the pool. "The sooner you start, the sooner you finish."

"Greg?" Al poked his head out from the patio doors, holding the cellular to one ear. "Tell Sam to get in here. Edward is on the phone-conference call with Daystrom. It's important."

Sam dripped into the house, ignoring the towel Greg held out, snatching up the phone in the bedroom so he could be in on the conversation. After twenty minutes of some financial discussion, and Edward's enthused tones, EarthSafe was a reality. Elated, Sam hung the phone up at the end of the discussion, full of plans and practically running into Al' s arms, held and squeezed to the point of breathlessness.

"Good news?" Greg asked, entering the bedroom, a grin plastered across his face.

"EarthSafe!" Sam turned and grasped Greg's hand, eyes bright and pleased. "We've got a project again."

"And three weeks to rest up before going back to work, Sam." Al was still a little uncomfortable with Greg's presence, especially when he and his friend were sharing a moment of emotional elation. "And, therapy. I want you in tiptop shape for D.C., kid."

"D.C.?" Greg's forehead crinkled in confusion.

"We have to go to Washington, " Sam explained, a touch of excitement in his voice. "Edward wants a practical demonstration on a full scale of the Imaging Process. Big time. A location in the U.S. and full public involvement. If we can get a big display it'll be easier to introduce the general public to the technique, and awareness about EarthSafe. I want to combine elements, and kill two birds with with one..."

"Slow down, Sam." Al placed a restraining hand on Sam's shoulder. "Daystrom is going to do technical, and you need to take this time to rest and rehab. With Greg's help."

"And yours. Admiral. You have to keep him on his schedule because...well, I've going out of town for the next couple of days."

Hazel eyes widened with surprise. "When?"

"Tomorrow-maybe through the weekend." From the look in Greg's blue eyes Sam felt he shouldn't say or question more. The doctor had an expression in the blue depths that was part fear, and part anger. Shifting gears, the physician decided to quickly change the subject. "Are you going to move, now that EarthSafe is off the ground?"

"Move?" Sam frowned. He hadn't thought of that, and neither had Al, judging from the look he was giving him. Now that PQL was over, would they have to relocate?

"Well, whatever decision you make, I hope you end up staying here. It's a nice house, and New Mexico, well, there's no place like it." Greg glanced at his watch and shrugged. "Sorry to cut things short, but I have to be going. I'll be back tomorrow briefly to give you a list of things I'm expecting you to do in my absence, Sam." His tone became one the other man knew well, that demanding, doctor vocalization. "And I expect the Admiral to kick your butt if you don't."

"Well. kid," Al said, closing the door behind the therapist. "We're in business. What did I tell..." Frowning, Al came up behind his friend, squeezing his rounded shoulders gently. "What's up, Sam?"

"Katie's coming tomorrow. There's so much going on, and I don't know where to start. What if D.C. says no to a demonstration? I mean, if they won't allow us to declassify the Imaging Process..."

"It's not for them to decide. All we need from those nozzles is a venue, and nothing more. If they say no, then we go to Canada. Hell, they're so environmentally minded up there it's become a felony to toss a can in the street."

"Well, that's an alternative. You know me," Sam said, trying to brush off his apprehension. "Mr. Pessimist. I wish I could remember what I was like right before I Leaped."

"A regular basket case, Sam." Al lit that rare cigar, feeling a need to celebrate. "One really nasty bundle of nerves. You practically clung to the ceilings every time the phone rang, or when the word 'budget' was mentioned. Verbena even had to take time off; couldn't take the stress you were oozing out. I dumped a whole can of Diet Coke on your head at one point. Only succeeded in pissing you off and..."

"A can of..." Swinging around, Sam stared open mouthed at his friend, suddenly remembering the entire thing; the way he had stormed around Control, pretty much freaking out over some small detail, and Al chasing him and dumping the soda over his head, soaking his hair and clothing. Being locked in an office somewhere and... "I really owe you one," Sam grumbled.

"More than one. Like the time. . .well, we'll go into that sometime. You need to do another lap. I'm debating going out for groceries. We need to stock up if your sister is coming, so she won't think I'm starving you."

"I want to tell her about us, Al."

"She'll find out soon enough, kid." The older man had been dreading this, but knowing full well that Sam wasn't about to hide a little detail like their relationship from his family for long. "And Tom..."

"He doesn't need to know." The usually mellow voice sharpened. "He's been belligerent lately, almost nasty again, and I can't take that, Al. It's so hard to call him every week and have him ask the same questions. Well, now I have something concrete to tell him about our future, but if I tell him how much I love you, he'll blast off. After all the accusations he's made, that'll really add fuel to the fire."

"It must hurt, a lot. And you haven't been talking to me about it." Al doused the cigar in the nearby ashtray and wrapped his arms around Sam's naked waist, kissing his shoulder softly. "I don't think Tom and I will ever be buddies, Sam. Not in this lifetime. What bugs me is that nozzle might want you to make a choice, and you shouldn't have to go through that, not ever."

"You know what way I'll choose. And I'll lose him, Al. Like before. He'll be as good as dead to me." The prominent chin came up, Sam's right hand covering Al's for a moment. "But he will know, someday, and I'll just have to prepare myself for that contingency."

The cab driver shook his head at the enthusiastic woman who launched herself from his car, practically knocking Al to the ground as she fell into his arms. "I've missed you so much!" she said, giving him a warm hug and kiss. She frowned as she pulled back to take a good look at the older man's face. "You look tired. Beat. What has my brother been putting you through?"

"A motorcycle."

"A what?"

"You had to tell her that before she practically touched the ground, didn't you?" Sam watched from the doorway, not wanting to walk the distance from there to the driveway.

She visibly whitened at the sight of her brother, looking worse than he had when he'd visited the farm. So thin, and holding the door frame for support, but happy, a beautiful smile spread across his features. His strong arms wrapped around her in a hug. "You look just awful, Sam, but I'm so glad to see you. After what happened at that airport..."

"Al took very good care of me, Katie."

"Just like always."

The cab driver glanced up as he set the last of the luggage on the driveway. "Are you Admiral Calavicci?" he asked, as Al stood apart from the reunion.

"Yeah, what's it to you?"

"They're sayin' he didn't really travel in time. That it was all bull. That true?"

The government was doing their best to discredit Sam, to keep the Project secret, Al realized. They hadn't watched the news lately. "Sam Beckett is no liar," he replied softly. "I'd keep my nose out of the Enquirer if I were you. It's bad for the eyes."

"Yeah, right." With a snort the driver got into his car and drove away, shaking his head. Al was sorely tempted to heave one of the rocks at the departing vehicle and kept his hands at his sides, fists clenched.

"Al?" Sam braced one hand on his sister's shoulder, worried at the tense line of anger that passed over his friend's stiffened back. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing. Let's go inside." Al shouldered the luggage and hauled it up the steps, hiding his irritation under a mask of enthusiasm. "I made lunch and it's all set up. You are always on time, kiddo. I remember the last time..."

"Al." Very plainly, Sam wasn't buying the burbling. "What did that man say to you?"

"He recognized me, and you." Sighing, Al dumped his load on the floor, not wanting to meet Sam's gaze. "They're saying you didn't travel in time, that it was all a lie. Same old jazz, the old cover up syndrome."

"You have to be kidding!" Katie glanced from one face to the other, eyes wide and disbelieving. "I heard something on the news, but ignored it. There are so many people that wanted to believe it, and did. My big brother traveled in time. I'm not the only one that believes that, Sam."

"We'll see what happens." Despite the fury that was filling him, Sam was able to control it, for his sister's sake, and Al. "It might make things tough when we go to D. C. ."

"Not if I can help it." Al re-lifted the largest suitcase. "I'll show you to your room, madame," he said in his most formal tone.

"Room?" She glanced around the living room. "I could crash on the couch. I don't want to put you both out, taking..."

"You'll sleep in Al's room, Katie." Sam took his sister's hand, smiling softly. "Al, well..." He glanced over at his softly smiling friend, feeling acquiescence there. "He sleeps with me."

"With...as in together?" She hesitated a beat, then let out a held breath. Her brother was reddening, something she used to tease him about when they were younger, how he could blush at the slightest provocation. Al looked protective and worried, wondering how she was taking this new development. She turned to the older man and gave him a soft kiss on the cheek, cupping his worn face in her hands, smiling broadly at him. "You really are taking care of him. I've never seen him so happy, or satisfied with his life. I've been wondering why he's been so relaxed, so unlike himself before he left. It's you. He told me something happened a while ago, the best thing possible, but was so mysterious about it."

"Ah, Katie." Al took her hands, smiling at her, his eyes glowing. "Always perceptive, to a fault. I think, though, I got the best side of the deal."

It was so relaxing, Sam thought, stretched out on the couch, wonderful aromas coming from the kitchen, the soft sound of Al's and Katie's voices, gently ribbing each other, the glint of late spring sun warming the room with a golden/scarlet light. Katie had announced that just once, she wanted to cook dinner, to celebrate

Al's birthday. Not exactly a party, nothing special, just a nice meal and the three of them together. Sam had to smile at what he had planned for later, hoping their room was soundproof and wouldn't disturb his sister. From prior experience, and Al's 'dates' before he'd Leaped, Sam remembered not a sound could be heard from his side of things.

The phone buzzed, and Al listened to the voice on the end after saying 'hello', handing it wordlessly to Katie. "Your brother," he mouthed, leaning over the counter and trying not to eavesdrop on the conversation.

"Who is it?" Sam called from the living room.

"Tom," Al answered. "Just stay put. If he wants you, I'll bring the phone in there."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" The sudden rise in Katie's voice made Al's head snap up. "It's none of your business!" She flashed a helpless look in the older man's direction, shrugging, then, making a face. "I'm sleeping in Al's room." The silly expression wiped instantly from her face. "What the hell do you think, Tom? Yes, he's right here, but I don't think..." Mouth tight, she handed the phone over to Al. "I think," she said softly. "I let the cat out of the bag."

"Oh, boy." Sighing, Al took the cellular, wondering what kind of reaction Tom Beckett would have to this. "Tom, this is..." The steady buzz of fury from Indiana made Al's face redden with anger. "Who the hell do you think I am? I didn't..." A mask came over his face, hiding his deeper feelings. "If that's how you feel, then... fine." Al handed the phone back to Katie without another word, and went to the door, pulling it open and closing it behind him with a bang.

"Sam!" Katie, keeping her hand over the speaker, felt frightened at what she'd unwittingly caused. Sam came around the comer, a frown across his face, glancing at the door.

"Where did Al go?"

"I don't know. Tom is on the phone, making all these accusations. I don't know what he said to Al, but it made him so angry he just, well, left."

"Give me the phone."

"Sam, I don't think that would be wise." It was clear that the voice on the other end was shouting for someone to listen to him. "Tom gets this way, all fired up. You just don't understand yet."

Snatching the phone from his sister, Sam glanced anxiously at the door as he spoke. "What did you just say to Al?" His face paled at the words his brother said, the ultimatum he tossed at him. "I'm not making any choice, Tom. You can't..." He closed his eyes at the bitter voice, trembling a moment before speaking again. "I'm in love with Al. That's the truth. You wanted honesty, that's it. We're together for the rest of our lives. If you can't accept that..." The resounding click at the other end gave Sam his answer.

"Oh, Sam." Katie was distressed, hating to see the division that had arisen since her favorite brother had returned from his time traveling. "What did he say?"

"He hung up." The sound of Al's car starting made Sam go for the door, as quickly as his encumbered limb would allow him. Jerking the entrance open he made it halfway out to the sidewalk just in time to see the sports car hurl out of the driveway in a spray of gravel. "Damn it!" he snapped, digging in his pockets for the keys to his bike.

"You're going after him? I didn't see your Jeep."

"It's not here. I have to find out what Tom said to him." He practically ripped the keys from his jeans pocket and slammed his fist against the button that lifted the garage doors. "You stay put. Hold down the fort. We'll be right back."

She watched from the door as Sam flew out of the driveway on the motorcycle. Hated the thing, as much as Al did, maybe a little more. Al had told her he didn't quite have the balance right yet, and he'd crashed once. At the speed he was going if he spilled on the road, he'd be so much smear on the asphalt. "God, Sam," she

whispered, holding her hand to her throat. "I'm going to kill Tom."

Wind tore through his long hair, whipping and smacking the strands against his skin. He had to squint against the setting sun, looking for Al's car on the strip of highway. It was directly ahead of him, speeding along at a comfortable seventy miles an hour. He had to hit at least eighty to catch up. Breathing a prayer, he hit the throttle, finally catching up with his friend and sliding along the side of the car to the driver's side.

Al glanced up, eyes widening at the sight of Sam along side his vehicle. "Damn it, kid!" Easing down his speed, he pulled over to the shoulder, hoping Sam would do the same without wiping out. He slammed out of the car as the cycle pulled up, none too gracefully. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?"

"Going after you," Sam spat out, letting the bike fall and stumbling away from it. "What the hell did my brother say?"

A darkening frown passed over Al's features at the question. "It doesn't matter."

"If it didn't matter you wouldn't have torn out of the house like that." Cars whipped past them as Sam placed his hands on Al's shoulders. "I had to come after you. He told me some stuff, just the rudest.."

"What?"

"You first." Sam's smile was tight, worried. "Tell me."

"He...said he'd make you choose between us, like before. I hate this bullshit, Sam. That's no choice at all. Your brother or me? I can't come between you."

"I have a choice." The shadow that passed in the greenish gaze belied his peaceful expression. "My choice is you. If that means Tom is out of my life, then. .. tough. I'll lose him, to keep you. I can't stand a bigot, Al. Katie slipped something and he lost control. Maybe he'll settle down, maybe he won't. I can't worry about his problem with it, because I'm in love. I told him that, and how we plan to spend the rest of our lives together."

"What did he say to that?"

"He said you must've seduced me in a vulnerable moment. That I needed treatment, for this 'sickness'." The tremble in Sam's voice built, his head dipping. "If this is some kind of disease, I want to be sick for a long time."

"Then, he hung up on you."

"How did you know?"

"Because that's the kind of lout he is. Can't handle honesty, kiddo. God, I hate this, tearing the two of you apart, after all you went through to keep him alive;"

Sam pulled Al to him, easing the other man into a gentle, desperate hug. "I want to go home. Kate's waiting."

"I think I can handle that fine, Sam." As they separated, Al went to help his friend with the motorcycle, lifting and settling it upright on the dirt. "Where's your helmet? Your shoes? I thought I made you promise to not ride this thing until you got the protective gear. Damn it..."

"You didn't give me much of a choice, kicking out like you did. I'll see you at home," Sam grinned, punching the starter and tearing back towards the house like a madman.

"You little nozzle," Al grumbled, with affection. He stood, watching Sam tilt into the wind, his hair blowing back from his face, the sun glinting off the mirror of the bike, showing off a little bit before disappearing over a rise. Too beautiful for words, Al thought, not that he'd tell the vain little s.o.b. that. Not now.


	30. Chapter 30

Chapter 19

They settled into a quiet evening, taking the events with Tom in stride, trying to press it aside so they could have a somewhat relaxed time together.

Katie waited patiently until Sam had gone to use the bathroom to speak to Al. She had seen the thin shadow of pain stay in her brother's eyes throughout the night, belying his bouncing attitude. She was positive his friend had noticed it too, far beyond her perception.

"Is Sam going to be all right?"

"Sure." Al didn't feel too confident, knowing how sensitive Sam had been as of late. "He's going to fix things with Tom, and handle it like always." His face softened. "Y'know, he really..." He smiled. "He fights like hell for us, Katie. Up and down the block. I don't know what possessed him to tell Tom things like that, knowing how that guy feels about me."

"Talking about things that don't matter, as usual." Sam came from behind, pulling Al backwards into a hug.

"It does matter, if it's hurting you, Sam." Al reached up and held the hands that encircled his throat. "Just talk to us. You know what happens when you bottle this stuff up, kid."

"I don't need another headache. What I really want to do is go for a swim? You game, Kate?"

"Sam..."

Katie shook her head. "It's pretty late, and I'm going to hit the sack soon. What I really want is for you to call Tom and work this out to your satisfaction. It isn't finished. You know he's fuming right now, and missing the hell out of you. If he doesn't want to talk, then you know for sure he isn't worth your time."

Sam shook his head, pulling away from Al's gripping hands. "I can't. You know what he'll say again."

"Call him, kiddo." Al toyed with a cigar in his hands, not lighting it. "Do what you have to."

Shoulders slumped, Sam went to the phone and dialed the number from memory. It rang twice. Tom answered, sounding like he expected him. "It's me, Tom," he said, "I want to talk to you." He sighed at the words tossed recklessly at him. "I seduced him, Tom." Sam grinned at Al who was blushing deeply at what he heard on his end of the conversation. "And he accepted me and loves me. Maybe this is the way I've been all my life and just denying it won't..."

His expression darkened as he suddenly hung the phone up. "I told you both he was impossible. Tom just hung up on me again." He tore out of the room, heading for the bedroom. The sound of sliding doors and a splash into the pool. Fully clothed, Sam had dived into the pool, churning up the water to relieve himself of the anger he was absolutely burning with. Damn him anyway, a man who didn't know him or Al, sounding so pompous and upright, saying that he' d been seduced by Al. God knew if anyone had done that, it was him. He dove under the water, pushing his body to the max and beyond.

He barely heard Al calling his name, crouched down by the other end of the pool, watching and waiting for him to do what he had to and go to him. Katie was silhouetted by the doors, looking worried. He plunged in again, and swam to Al, letting the older man pull him up, drenched to the skin, into his arms. They were both soaked, holding each other close. "Sometimes," Sam muttered. "I feel so damned alone, and I miss him so much. It's like he's dead again, a stranger to me now. All I have is you and Katie. You've been alone for so long, and I'm acting like an ass..."

"Sam, it's okay." Al held the bundle of wet as close he could, heedless of the pool water that dripped onto everything. "We care about you, kiddo. So, Tom is an ass. He'll grow up someday and see what he's missed, seeing you grow up like you did. Tom will be proud of you, someday." Katie was there, her hand smoothing Sam's wet hair, crouched down to his level.

"Face it, Sammy. Tom can be an asshole. We grew up with him and you followed him and did everything he did, outside of joining the Navy. Now, he's been back from 'Nam for years; it changed him. Made him a tough, sometimes nasty person. Not always. My kids love him, and his kids and Jackie, they're the best. I'll talk to her, and have her speak to Tom. Maybe she can bring him around. Sometimes she can, when no one else could. If Mom was alive, she'd kick his butt."

"Mom knew about us, Katie." He looked up into his sister's face, waiting for some kind of reaction. "I told her everything when I was home that last time. She was pleased that Al was here for me, that I had someone to share my life with, always."

"And she went so peacefully, Sam, like there was nothing weighing on her mind." Katie was smiling, giving her brother a quick, enthusiastic squeeze. "And now I've got this great new, uh..." She backed off for a moment, giving Al an exaggerated frown. "What the hell do I call you?"

"Don't say it." He approached her, looking dangerous, half crouched. "Katie..." he said, in warning.

"My sister-in-law!" She laughed grappling playfully with Al for a moment as he tackled her, throwing both off balance and splashing into the pool. Sam fell back against the tile, unable to breathe for the laughter that filled him, clutching both hands over his aching ribcage.

They giggled their way into the house, after Sam was dragged into the pool with them, all three soaked to the skin and dripping puddles of water over the parquet. Laughingly, Katie said good night, disappearing into her room with a towel, trying vainly to get the chlorinated water out of her ears.

Al closed both bedroom and bath doors, making sure they were completely private before playfully shoving Sam backwards onto the bed and kissing him deeply. Gripping Al's soaked shirt front, Sam reciprocated, eagerly taking Al's tongue, sucking on the slickness, eyes slitting into gold/green sparkles. "Is this my birthday present, kid?" Al said, grinning. "If that's any indication, I'm in for some night."

"I'm giving you something I couldn't buy," Sam said, treasuring the feel of his lover's damp chest, smoothing the palm of his hand over the slightly damp skin. "I'm giving you a favor."

"A favor." He caught his breath, smiling down at that beautiful face.

"Whenever, wherever. You ask and I'll do it, without a question."

"Like, get rid of that bike?"

"Very funny." Sam reached and pulled the damp material away from Al's shoulders, the other man shrugging the shirt down to the floor. "I'm serious. You can use it for something really useful, or practical. Not my bike, though," he added quickly. "Just ask, and it's yours, like a night alone, when I want to go out, or making plans and keeping them. I didn't think you'd want a new suit, or a tie. You've got more than enough of solid things, all you need, and I know how much you hate presents."

"You're all the presents I need, bud." Al laid atop Sam, his finger playing in the strands of wet hair that just touched his bare shoulder. "Okay, I'll think about this...favor biz. Right now, I'm a little distracted."

Katie left five days later, and preparations were made for the trip to D.C. It wasn't a long jaunt, only a week, but important, beyond the thoughts of just another schmoozing session.

"Just once. I'd like to handle this," Sam stated, shoving plates in the dishwasher with a reckless abandon. "You have .to stay here, until the end of the week anyway."

"I don't know about this, Sam." Al bent over the dishwasher, replacing the dishes properly that the kid had just shoved in. "This dumb function at White Sands.. .hell, I could probably sneak out of it, if that's what it takes. You need me over there, to convince those guys that we're on the up and up, and that this thing will really work. A regular miracle, you told me."

"You have to attend that banquet, Al. You're the guest of honor, for Pete's sake." Al was being decommissioned, the ceremony planned for just the very week they needed to go to D.C., much to both men's chagrin. After much argument, it was decided that Sam go with Edward, and Daystrom, meet with the reps, and have Al join them once his function was over. Problem was, the appointments had been made for the day before the banquet, and Al had to remain at home for at least three days, to spend time with his friends, mostly retired, taking a much needed break.

"I really wish you could be there." There was a touch of wistfullness to Al's tone, that caught at Sam's heart. "I guess it can't be helped."

"This is a real role reversal, and I hate it." Sam grimaced, thinking of being apart from Al, in this 'honeymoon' part of their relationship, even for a few days, was a hard cross to bear. "You'll be with your friends, all of them, and I don't know most of them. My presence might distract from you, and I don't want that."

"There will be press there," Al said, making a face. "I hope they don't want interviews. I'll..."

"You'll cooperate, like I'll have to. As much as I hate to admit it, the media might be our only allies in EarthSafe, Al. Outside of St. John, and Daystrom. I can't wait to see Kevin again, and tell him how well the I.C. worked on the Leaps. I'm bringing some of our data, just enough so he can get a clear picture of what it was like. He's going to just go nuts."

Al had to grin, thinking of how Sam and Kevin Daystrom behaved together; like two overly bright youngsters, playing with their toys, he and Carol, Daystrom's wife, watching like indulgent parents until they could drag them home to bed. Only, the last time, he and Sam hadn't been a couple, not yet. That had been before the Leaps, almost five years before. "You're just dying for intellectual company. I've been lacking in that, lately. I'm beginning to wonder if I'm going senile."

"Judging by your performance last night, I damn well doubt it." Sam pulled Al close and kissed him deeply, hoping the touch of his lips went right down to the older man's toes. The tremble that passed through Al's body told him volumes. "We don't have to go out today, Al," he said softly. "I want to make love to you, in every damned room of the house."

"Edward's coming, Sam." Al's voice was mock stem. "I don't think he'll be too amused to find us screwing like minks in the living room."

"I guess not." Disappointment colored Sam's words, as he closed the dishwasher and set it to running. "I'll go do my laps and work out for a while, then."

"He won't be here for three hours, four, if his plane's late." Al reached and squeezed Sam's butt, pulling the long body into a warm embrace, his hardening crotch just brushing the other man's erection. "I can handle four or five...laps, in that time, I think."

They barely made it into the bedroom, easing into a slow and gentle lovemaking session that seemed to stretch into hours. Sam felt as if he could overflow with the joy he felt every time Al took him, or when he touched his lips to his lover's cock and sucked him to completion. Al did nothing but bask in this almost overwhelming need he felt for the other man, not one moment of his day complete without a hug, or that touch of soft lips on his.

They held each other for another hour, watching the clock before Edward should arrive. "I'm going to hate this," Sam whispered, with a ferocity that made Al frown. "Verbena said it might be for the best."

"Since when are you listening to her?" Al asked, with a touch of annoyance.

"Yesterday. She called when you went to the store. She said time apart is good for both of us, at this stage. Separation that makes things stronger." Like he could love Al more than he did right now, he added silently. "She's still worried I'm too dependent on you." He smiled into Al's hair, kissing through the curls. "I might've gone overboard a bit on my feelings with her."

"What the hell did you say?" Al's words were soft, without anger.

"I told her how much I loved you, that you take my breath away every time I see you. Couldn't help it. There's times I really need so much to tell someone else, and the words just flooded out of me. I'm sorry."

"It's okay with Verbena, Sam. She's a good person." Al couldn't help but hear the guilty sound in the younger man's voice. "I know she understands. She's full of bull sometimes, but trustworthy and a friend. It doesn't matter much anymore. I guess, who knows. I'm sort of getting to the shouting from the highest treetops stage myself." Al couldn't resist saying it, and loving the way Sam relaxed in his arms at the words, a pleased smile crossing his features. "Anyway, kiddo, she's wrong. "

"How do you figure? It seems to me..."

"Kid, I couldn't want or need you more than I do now." Al cleared his throat, unaccustomed to saying the words he wanted to say. He reinforced his hug around Sam's torso, holding him tighter, the other man snuggling comfortably into the embrace. "It's a physical pain for me, Sam, being away from..." He kissed one soft shoulder. "I've never felt this much emotion for someone in my life. God, I do love you."

Tears welled into Sam's eyes, hearing the deep feelings expressed in such a way from his usually reticent lover. He rolled over and pressed his body against Al, wrapping his legs around the other man's, so close that they were practically one tangle of smooth flesh. He kissed him, just a brush against Al's full lips, and sighed, holding on to his body for dear life. "I love you, too. It's a little scary at times, how much I want to just cling to you, keep the fear away of the world, and all the things that we have to do. You keep me sane, Al, and alive. Like always."

"Love, we have to get up, whether we want to or not. Damn it." Al managed to pull himself away from the warmth of Sam's arms. Not by choice, never by choice to leave that safe place where he was loved past the point of believing. "Edward's going to be here soon. We need to shower and clean up."

Sighing exaggeratedly, Sam rolled off the bed, wanting to cry or just bitch to high heaven. "I'll be leaving tomorrow," he said, sitting on the edge of the mattress. "We might not have time for anything between then and now."

"We'll make time, Sam. If it's not sex, it'll be time together, holding..." Al came around the bed and let Sam fall against his legs, petting his hair with trembling fingers. "Just holding each other, Sam. Just being in the same space is enough for me right now."

Once Edward arrived, the three men set to work, spelling out as best they could their proposal to the government. If they couldn't get the cooperation they needed from them, alternatives had to be planned. The Earth itself was a ticking bomb, the ozone problem becoming one that was causing major weather changes, the tropical rain forest having only a few years left before it was decimated. "Can this be possible," Edward asked, scanning Ziggy's printout. "More than ten thousand acres...a day?"

"Ten years ago it was four." Sam glanced at Al, all business, the seriousness of the situation putting him into scientist mode. "In about eight years we can't turn back. If we can demonstrate to the people, give them a physical reality of something they'll never see, therefore never be concerned about, maybe that can turn the tide. The logging has to stop, and the press of civilization. It has to be big, Edward. I think we can do it, and maybe cause enough of a stir to turn the tide."

"I trust you both," Edward said, falling back against the leather couch, printouts littering his lap and the floor around him. "Your computer is incredible."

"Sam'11 introduce you sometime. She loves guys with British accents." Al grinned at the stern look his friend gave him. "She finds them charming. I remember this one guy from Yorkshire...what was his name, Sam?"

"Brookhaven, and you thoroughly humiliated the guy, so let's drop it, okay?" Sam stirred uneasily, still not quite accustomed to Edward or what he reminded him of. "I'm going to leave you both alone for a while and do my laps. I promised Greg."

"I don't know, Albert." Edward glanced at the closed door of the bedroom, a bit of hesitation in his voice. "Dr. Beckett seems as if he's very uncomfortable with me. I wish I could discover what is bothering him."

"He likes you, Edward. You two are going to be spending the next few days together." Al was reticent to tell the other man about what had happened on the Leap, the one that Sam had told him about. "Maybe you can talk to him, and he'll tell you."

"I certainly hope so. I never met Dr. Beckett before that last time, but, then I have a strange sensation, as if I had, but he wasn't... himself. I thought long and hard about that; I am a very thorough man, Albert." He sounded more confused than angry, his wide brown eyes pleading for understanding. "You know something, and I'm absolutely dying to find out what it is."

"It's for Sam to tell you," Al said, after a long pause. "You're an all right guy, Edward. Don't worry about Sam. In due time, he'll like you a lot, but right now he's trying to get through some, well, pretty rough stuff."

"Likewise, Albert. I hope he'll be all right." Leaving Edward to read through the other printouts, Al went to the bedroom, standing at the patio doors, watching Sam chum through the water. He seemed especially intent today, not noticing his presence, the water splashing loudly against the side of the pool, disturbed by his efforts. All Al could do is watch, concerned and upset, knowing something of the frightening thoughts that were going through the kid's mind. Maybe every time he saw Edward he relived that moment when he'd thought he'd killed him. If this was true, how could he expect Sam to spend actual time with the man alone?

Stretching, Edward glanced back towards the bedroom, his eyestrain from reading the data burning his tired vision. He'd been on the go since three days before, and wondered to himself what it might be like to take a break and breathe for a change. He wandered over to the bedroom door, stopping as he caught a glimpse of the expression on the Admiral's face. He was still as a tree, his eyes on the pool, watching and waiting, a indiscernible worry mixed with great love in his expression. There was a reason Albert and Dr. Beckett were such an outstanding team, and it went beyond friendship. It pleased him deeply that they had each other in such a way. He also knew he was perfectly right and need not bring it up to either man. Certainly, they'd have as good a working relationship, if not better, if he kept his knowledge discreet.

A bottle of wine was on the counter of the kitchen, and Edward felt it wouldn't

hurt to indulge. He frowned at the contents of the refrigerator. Albert had told him to make himself at home, hadn't he? The wine was a fairly good vintage, for California, not bad at all. He sipped at the glass, frowning at what was at hand, prepared to make do. Frankly, these two must either starve or eat what he could only consider fair garbage most of the time. No wonder Dr. Beckett looked like a famine victim!

The aroma of cooking drew Al back to the kitchen. Sleeves rolled up, Edward was busying himself at the stove, slicing some onions into a pan, frozen steak thawed in the microwave sizzling over a low heat. "I hope you don't mind, Albert. It was the least I could do for letting me stay with you both."

"Smells terrific." Al frowned at the vegetables piled on the counter, some a little wilted. "Where did those come from?"

"I presume you knew. Most of them were in your refrigerator. Please don't ask what I'm preparing. A little wine, some vegetables, lean meat, and a meal." His eyes slowly turned to take in Al's skeptical gaze. "Be assured, I won't poison you or Dr. Beckett."

"Can I do anything to...help?"

"Enjoy a glass of this marvelous wine and keep me company. How is Dr. Beckett?"

"Drying off. Y'know, I don't think it would hurt to call him Sam."

"You two have the best of both worlds here." Edward's gaze shifted to the desert scene outside the kitchen window. The sun made the sand almost glitter, it's heat squelched by the cool house. "I heard that New Mexico has all but one of the climate zones, everything but tropical. At any given time you can be in the mountains, or, really, anything you feel like, within easy driving distance."

"I guess that's one of the reasons Sam and I decided to keep this place." Al grinned at his partner as he came out of the bedroom, looking decidedly suntouched. "You need some Solarcaine, kiddo. Right across the shoulders. You'll be hurting later."

"I'll manage. What's going on?" Sam was bare-chested, in a pair of jeans, hair still mostly soaked, but cool and comfortable, pleasantly worn from his swim.

"Edward is making lunch."

"You cook?" Sam's eyebrows went up at this new development. St. John seemed to be full of surprises.

"Not very often, or as well as my Sara. I do the best I can." Edward lowered the heat under the skillet, his eyes a question as he turned to Sam. "I want to be your friend, not just a business associate. I have few of those, finding, in fact, that I cannot work well with those that are only purely in it for the job. Please, tell me what's troubling you about me. I'll do the best I can to settle this."

"Tell him, Sam." Al nodded, easing Sam down to the stool next to him. "It'll only get worse. He's got the clearance, kid."

"It isn't you, Edward," Sam began, clearly having trouble with each word. The earnest face waiting for him to speak was obviously sincere and wanting to know more. "When I was in Time, we met. Not under the best of circumstances. I... leaped into Al, here." His head dipped for a moment, leaning his forehead onto his hand. "Listen, it's hard. I'll do the best I can, but I hope you understand." His face lifted, eyes bright. "I screwed things up, royally, that Leap. Al died. You took his place, for a while. Just a few hours. It was you, your name, even the same suit you wore, the first time we met. Something shifted, when I found the thing that changed things, and you went to wherever you were, and Al returned. That time he was gone was more than frightening for me. See, he was my constant when I was out there, alone. When you showed up I was lost and afraid, missed the hell out of him."

"I was the Observer?" Edward let the reality sink in, glancing from Al's impassive face, toying with a cigar without lighting it, and Sam's honest, open expression, looking desperately hopeful. "I told the Admiral that I felt I knew you before we met. It was a rather vague feeling, but something I can adapt to, now. I wish in my heart that I could've shared that adventure with you, but I'm pleased beyond measure that you managed to change events so that the Admiral could return. We have another thing to do now, that is just as great in it's import, and I'm thrilled that you've allowed me to Observe you both this time."

Sam felt an immense weight lift from his shoulders, speaking of, they were just beginning to sting from the sunburn. Al gently set his hand on his leg below the counter, giving his thigh a supportive squeeze, just to let him know that he was loved and appreciated. "I'm going to find that Solarcaine." Sam gave Edward a grin, seeing the relief on the young/old face. He looked almost like a boy at times, few lines on the older man's skin, almost carefree attitude emanating from him. "We'll manage better now, Edward. Thank you."

"Likewise, Samuel."

Wincing at the longer version of his name, Sam shook his head, going to the bathroom in search of sunburn relief. Here or there, he probably couldn't break the man of that particular habit.


	31. Chapter 31

The meal had been wonderful, and, to his chagrin, Al noticed Sam had seconds and thirds, much to Edward's amusement. The kid usually ate everything set before him, but not with as much enthusiasm or enjoyment as he exhibited now. "I guess I'm not the cook I thought I was," Al said, trying to sound gruff.

"Al!" Sam shook his head at the other man as Edward cleared the dishes. "You don't know how much I sneak once I'm full, when you're preoccupied with paperwork, or whatever."

"Whatever," Al groaned, rolling his eyes, grabbing the glasses and heading for the kitchen. "You and that mind of yours, kid. I'm going to knock you into orbit if you even think..."

"My mind? I didn't say word one about... whatever." Glancing at the kitchen and seeing Edward bent conveniently over the dishwasher, Sam gave Al a quick kiss on the cheek, making the older man redden. "Later," he promised, meaning it.

Once the meal was cleared up, Sam insisted that Edward go out to see his motorcycle, and Al watched indulgently, puffing on that really rare cigar. Thankfully, Sam didn't say anything about it, just a chastising look. The stogie was an unsatisfying replacement for something else he wanted to slip between his lips. The damned kid was so beautiful this afternoon it hurt. Sam had undergone a remarkable transformation after telling Edward about the Leap. He was practically effervescent, enthused out of his mind about everything, and sneaking him looks that were so passion-filled that they nearly made his knees crumple.

Sam made a move to climb on board the machine from hell, and Al quickly grabbed the handlebars before he could make one damned move. "No shirt, no shoes, no service," he said quickly. Edward looked amused, arms crossed over his chest.

"I just wanted to show Edward..." He bent his head for a moment, then his green/gold gaze came up, eyes dancing as they met Al's determined stare. "Whatever you say...Albert."

"You rat." Al started to move away and felt warm hands encircle his on the bars, slowly entwining through his fingers for a moment before releasing. "Get off the bike, Sam."

Reluctantly, Sam acquiesced. "It's too hot to ride anyway. Must be around a hundred." A small frown appeared between his eyes, growing suddenly thoughtful.

"It... it never used to be this hot, not this early in the year."

"Gets that way, Sam. They say it's part of the climate change and..." Sam sped past him and Edward, making a beeline for the house.

"Extraordinary."

"Not really. Pretty normal. He'll go run in to Ziggy and tap, tap, tap, for a few hours, trying to figure out another angle for that stuff in D.C. That's how we work together. Something inane, like the weather, or just conversation that'll get him thinking. Then, well, he powers up and off to the races."

"Remarkable. You two are legendary, what with Project Quantum Leap, and StarBright. How long have you known Samuel?"

"Twenty-four years. A long time. Met him at Bethesda, when he was interning. Kept in touch, and worked together on StarBright. That didn't last all that long, not with the bureaucracy, kicking us around. Then, we got PQL, and the rest. He's the thinking part of me, and the human part, when I'm in a mood." Al stopped speaking, his face distant, then, focusing on Edward's soft expression. "Look, let's go inside. It's hotter'n hell in this garage. I think I can scare up something cold."

Edward's eye fell on the pool table, his gaze widening. "Do you play, Albert?"

"Uh..." Al had to grin at that. "Not very well."

When Sam finally switched Ziggy off, sorted out the printouts into their proper piles, and packed the whole mess in he wondered why the house was so quiet. It was nearly dark, all the lights out. Where was Al and Edward? Had he lost it to the point that he hadn't heard them leave?

Frowning, he heard the sound of laughter from the garage, and Al swearing, cursing, and generally pissed off, in a good natured way. He pushed the door open, grinning at the sight. Both men were bent over the pool table, deeply entrenched in a game, Al about to make a hit, tongue peeking out of the edge of his mouth as he centered his attention on the cue ball.

Quietly, Sam moved to a position where he could watch without distracting either man. There was an unspoken camaraderie there. It warmed him to see Al's face in such relaxed lines, Edward looking casually elegant, his collar twisted open, tie askew, frowning as the ball rolled into its hole with perfect alignment.

"You owe me twenty thousand dollars," Al trumpeted, setting the stick in the wall holder and grinning.

"And, as I recall, you told me you didn't play all that well." There was a disgusted sound to Edward's voice, but his sparkling gaze told other tales. He was enjoying himself, easily relaxing in the presence of this man, near enough to his age to have shared experience. He was well aware of Sam's gentle gaze from the doorway, watching like an indulgent parent. It warmed him to be treated like a member of their family, which was exactly it. "Samuel, your friend is a demon."

"Perfect observation." Sam grinned at Al's glowering face. "He conned you. Al was taught by the best, and can play anyone under the table."

"Then I don't owe you a shilling." Edward tapped Al gently on the head with his cue before racking it. "Deceptive, Albert. You are quite impossible."

Sam grinned, remembering the last time he'd heard Edward say that, in context with Al. "So," he asked, bracing against the table. His left side was just on the edge of support, but still not quite. "Al, are you going to properly teach me this thing, or is that an out?"

"Now?" Al grinned, grabbing a stick and handing it to Sam. "Lesson one. This is a pool cue."

"I know that, Al. Very funny."

In a few minutes both men were leaning over the table, working the game like pros. It turned out San had remembered almost everything Al had taught him so long ago, and was nearly a match for the older man. Superior, in some ways. Edward watched, seeing the disbelief on Al's face as Sam neatly racked the balls, and each one went to its goal with little or no effort.

"Last damned time I ever teach the kid a game," Al muttered to Edward. "Can you believe this? When we did this, this one Leap, he'd never played a game in his life. Up to now, he hasn't played since then. He's too smart for his own damn good."

Sam walked over to where Al stood and leaned over the table, sticking his hips up as he made the shot, assured by the older man's intake of breath that he was presenting him with the view he'd intended. Sure, he was a tease, but he had to get back at Al for that one crack.

Chapter 20

Sam had no more than closed the bedroom door, when he found himself being hurled to the floor and tackled, held in possessive arms and kissed until he had to gulp breaths to quell the dizziness.

"That's for the display in the garage, you little..." Al gasped as Sam returned the embrace, rolling the older man onto his back and capturing his lips with as much ferocity as his lover had kissed him.

"Game, set, and match," Sam growled, nose to nose with his partner, grinning fiendishly. Frowning, his eyes narrowing, Sam leaned back, worry at the sudden flash of pain that crossed Al's features. "Stomach?"

"That damned pizza." Al grumbled, pushing himself from the floor and going to the bathroom. Edward was already asleep, his door closed and the light off, Al noticed, grabbing the well-used bottle of Maalox and downing a third of it in one gulp. Jalapenos were definitely off his diet, for a while, anyway.

When he returned to the bedroom, Sam was laying on the bed, under the covers, his eyes gazing out the patio doors, a distant expression on his face. He looked hopelessly vulnerable, in deference to his earlier playfulness. Al dimmed the lights, and slid under next to the warm body, pleased at the tiny smile that coursed across Sam's features at his touch. It didn't take much thinking to realize what was on the younger man's mind. "I'll be there before you know it, Sam. I can always cancel out..."

"Don't you dare." Bending slightly, Sam grasped Al's cool hands and touched his lips to them once, brushing his face against the fingertips and releasing them. "I'll be pretty occupied with meetings and speeches, Al. Enough to keep me from missing you like I did before. Don't worry."

Slowly, Al moved his hands lower, determined to break Sam out of his contemplative mood. When he reached a ticklish spot, he dug in, holding his squirming, giggling lover tight so he couldn't escape his grasp, Sam was sometimes like putty in his hands, responding to each touch, every nuzzle. Warm and pliant as mercury, and just as hard to grasp. Their lips met in mid-play, clinging with desperation and love, breaking away to gaze into each other's eyes.

Sam rested his head on Al's shoulder, held firmly by the other man, completely comfortable and relaxed. Sometimes a good hugging session was better than sex. It was one of those nights where all he craved was Al's arms around him, being held and soothed. "I'm going to miss you, Al," he said, brushing his chin against the other man's chest, memorizing the scent of warm cologne and soap. "It's silly and stupid, because we'll only be apart a couple of days this time, but it somehow bothers me anyway."

"Maybe 'Bena's right, Sam. It's not that I get enough of you right now, all the time we've been together in the past months since..." The older man's lips thinned to lines, remembering the airport, and what had happened, how he'd almost lost everything there. "It'll be better when we get together again because we'll have forty-eight hours to make up for lost time."

"Lost time. I've got plenty of that, Al. More than you can imagine." Sam broke away from the embrace, his face closed. "Every minute we spend together is making up for all those years I jumped into the Accelerator and was away from you."

"I figure you've made up for at least three in the last six months, Sam." The delicate profile was outlined in moonlight from the doors, thoughtful expression still solidly in place. "You've got something really heavy on your mind, and I want to know what it is, if you want to talk."

"I did some work on Ziggy today. She came up with a few things that frightened me, made me wonder just how long we have to deal with things before the Earth is a wasteland. I just kept thinking that if I had put off PQL for a while, and worked on environmental concerns, like I should've, things might look better than they do now. "

"And you think you could've made a difference?" Al snorted, drawing a hurt look from Sam. "Beckett, my boy wonder, you are not God. The best minds in the country have been working on it for years. It's the people that'll help, and that idea you have about the I.e. effect. PQL was the greatest adventure known to man, the biggest thing that's ever happened. People need that, the excitement of it, to keep them alive. Now, that you've been through it, you can relate to them, and use that experience to do what you have to now."

"If I'm the boy wonder, are you Batman?" Sam rolled back down onto the bed, grinning, grabbing his lover's shoulders and pressing him against the waving mattress. "You always know the right things to say, Al. I love you."

"I'm not finished. In the back of your busy little mind you're thinking you've wasted time, when in fact, my dear Beckett, you've managed to find the solution to the ozone problem because of it. If the Quantum Energy can be harnessed into..."

"I don't want to go into that or I'll get another headache. And, you're right, of course. We couldn't do the work we're doing now without PQL, and I'm being an asshole."

"I'm not disagreeing with you." He grinned at the furious look Sam flashed him. "Kid, you have this damned annoying habit of falling into that trap every time you're on the verge of something big. You have a helluva ego, Sam, bringing the weight of the world down on your shoulders like this. It may be possible, not likely, but possible, that you aren't the only smart guy in the world. Lie down by me. Now," Al said, easing the reluctant man next to him. "You got an early flight tomorrow, Sam."

"Not that early." Sam grinned, pulling the blankets up and over the two of them, leaning over for a kiss.

"No argument, Sam."

"I like Kyle, no objections to that, but I don't think I need a shadow, Al."

Edward glanced from one pensive face to the other in mild amusement. The argument had been going on for some time, the Beckett side rapidly deteriorating under Calavicci logic. The object of their discussion sat at rapt attention, waiting for a decision to be made.

"He's playing bodyguard until I say otherwise, Sam." Al had insisted on driving them to the airport, making one side stop to pick up Kyle McGruder, against Sam's loud objections, slowly turning to grudging agreement. "Even with the press mellowing out I can't forget what happened the last time. You won't even notice he's there. Will he, Kyle?"

"I'll perform my duties with the utmost discretion," the man said quickly, his face impassive.

Making a face, Sam riveted his attention on the scene passing before the windows. The Alamogordo airport loomed in front of them. Strangely enough, he felt no apprehension at the sight, or fear. It was just another departure point, a place to fly out from. He was well aware of Al's concerned gaze, like a hawk, waiting for him to say something about the last time he'd left this place, in an ambulance.

Once they arrived, tickets in hand, they went to the designated gate. They had about a half an hour to wait for the plane. Edward went in search of a men's room, and the other members of the party took seats to wait for the call to board. Outside of a few stares, little notice was taken of the group, much to their relief. Kyle paced the area, trying to blend in and keep his ever watchful gaze on Sam without making him uncomfortable.

With a frown, Al noticed that Sam took a seat with his back to the wall, not seeming to think much about something that meant volumes. The older man sat next to him, trying to discern the emotions that passed over his friend's face. "You gonna be okay, kid?"

"Fine," Sam snapped, too quickly. He grinned, dipping his head. "Sorry, just a little tense. You know how I am before a flight."

"Just relax, Sam. Only two days, and I'll be with you. Maybe take a private flight home, just the two of us. How's that sound?"

"Wonderful. Wish I could look that far ahead." His voice was gloomy, easily gripping the hand offered him, offering a smile in return. "I want to do this in the States, Al. If they don't offer us a venue..."

"Then, you'll do what Edward says, and live with it. Canada isn't so bad, and probably a lot more free about what you can do than someplace else." Edward was involved in a conversation with Kyle, Al noticing quickly that the guard was still scoping the area out while he talked. "And keep Kyle nearby, Sam. And Edward. If you need me, I'm only as far as my beeper. I'll keep the damned thing on me twenty- four hours a day."

"Don't sweat it, I'll be fine, Al." Their eyes met just as the flight was announced over the P.A. "I want to kiss you goodbye."

"Not here, Sam," Al said, with a touch of reluctance. "Not yet." His voice was lowered, words intended just for Sam's ears and no one else's. "I'll be with you soon, kid."

"The sooner the better," Sam sighed, getting to his feet, keeping his hand in Al's, drawing him up with him. He wrapped him in an uncomplaining hug, feeling the tremble from the older man, and sighing reluctance as they too quickly broke apart.

As they proceeded towards the gate, Al took Edward aside, keeping his voice low as he spoke to him. "Keep an eye on Sam for me. I'm not asking you to baby-sit him, he's capable of handling himself, but I've got this stinking suspicion he's tottering on the edge of something. Just call me if he won't."

"Of course, Albert." Edward grinned slightly, gripping the handle of his briefcase. "I'm certain it'll be a smooth trip."

Easing into his seat, first class all the way, as Edward had promised, Sam tried to relax into the pre-flight jitters. Jitters? Fasten seat belt. No problem. Best thing in the world, but why were his hands shaking suddenly, like every nerve was on edge? Sure, he had fear of heights, and the typical edginess associated with flight, of any kind, but nothing like this cobra striking in his gut. Closing his eyes as the plane taxied from the gate, he tried to think of Al watching, not visible from where he sat. Probably pulling a cigar out and lighting it the moment he was out of the damned airport.

"Samuel?" Edward's concerned face loomed over him for a moment, those wide brown eyes questioning.

"I'll be fine, once we're off the ground," Sam said, smiling tightly, trying very hard to loosen up against the tightness that made every muscle ache. "I'm not at my best on planes."

"I'll order you a drink once we're in flight. That should do wonders for that uneasiness."

If I can keep it down, Sam thought, forcing down the nausea at the very suggestion.

The flight took two hours, time that Sam spent with his printouts. The sight of the documentation seemed to quell the breathtaking panic. By the time they landed at Dulles, he felt completely at ease, just a faint trace of the panic that had hit him initially. He put it off to leaving Al, and felt relief that it had passed quickly.

They dropped their luggage off at the hotel and the three men went to the first meeting almost immediately. It lasted five minutes, thirty seconds, to Sam's reckoning, and left him feeling pissed and frustrated at the cool faces they'd had to speak to. Some of Al's behavior patterns had rubbed off on him, he noticed, flinging his briefcase against the sidewalk outside of the office building, letting it crash and bounce down the cement.

"I take it, Samuel, that the meeting was not to your expectations."

"It did not. They didn't even give us attention, let alone, listen. I have this feeling they are still treating me like a kid with a really good imagination, just waiting to see what I'll come up with next, laughing behind my back the moment I'm out of earshot." He accepted the briefcase from Kyle without grinning. "It's like when they put StarBright under and we had to fight for PQL. If Al hadn't used some of those connections, no one would've listened. Now...Well, maybe Kevin Daystrom can charm them over, but I think I've lost the taste for it."

"Samuel, you're doing rather fine in that department. At least Senator Bramfield seemed to be listening."

"He has chronic hemorrhoids, Al says. He looks attentive because he's trying to keep weight off his ass. They don't want to demonstrate anything in the U.S.- that old Apollo thing-why should we spend all this money on this when we have so many domestic problems?" His voice kept tempo with his reluctant step, half-wishing he had his cane. "Damn it, let's just go back to the hotel and wait for Daystrom."

In the short time Edward had known Beckett he'd never seen him quite so. . .pensive. "Of course, Samuel. I'll see to it." He gave Kyle a glance as he hurried to the curb, pleased in a way at the man's watchful stance and protective presence.

"Dr. Beckett..." Kyle hesitated, not wanting to disturb his charge any further. "I was wondering."

"Kyle, I just want to get this over with." He sighed, softening slightly at the worried gaze. "What are you wondering?"

"Are you all right? Mr. St. John hasn't known you as long as I have, even though that time's been quite short, in itself. This is nothing, according to the Admiral. Not even a hop, just some people who don't mean a thing in the long run. If they say 'no' then you can use something elsewhere."

"I need government backup, so the people will have to listen. This is so important, Kyle, more than you can possibly imagine, and they don't give one shit about it, even with the world falling apart. Weather patterns all skewed one way and the other." Sam slumped on the bench by the curb, waiting for the cab, his eyes blinking in the sunlight. It was nearly six here, mid-afternoon back home. "I've been working with these bureaucrats for so long, Kyle. I'm tired of it. Maybe we should just do it on our own and let them eat crow. I don't know. It's so... irrelevant what they think." He pinched his eyes with his fingers, feeling the first stages of a class-A headache. "I'll be a little less tense when I've laid down for a while."

They took a cab back to the hotel, Sam feeling his irritability grow with each block they passed, ignoring the sights Edward pointed out. He couldn't snap at the man, or the even tone of his voice. It wore down to a quiet hum of sound, his sudden weariness dragging him into a numbing state of rest, head leaned against the window of the cab.

"Samuel?" Frowning, Edward watched the other man snap at the sound of his name. "I was suggesting dinner, if you feel up to it."

"I'll order room service, for me, and you can both do what you like, if you don't mind." Sam tried to keep the annoyance out of his tone, that damned pain behind his eyes growing with each bump the cab hit.

"You didn't touch your lunch, and breakfast is long past a memory."

"You're beginning to sound like a mother hen."

"That is not my intention, Samuel. You are my primary asset in this venture, and I have to keep you at prime condition if we are to succeed. Also, I do not want this trip to take more out of you than it's worth. The first meeting was discouraging, I must grant it that."

"To put it mildly," Sam grinned, sagging against the seat. "I sounded like an idiot. Al used to do all the talking for me, and I let him for a while. I was so busy doing the hands on, and he's pretty convincing when he wants to be. Charmed every senator on the hill for PQL. The only one I think is on our side is Nancy Waxman-and she isn't after my mind." The looks that one had given Sam had made him nervous beyond belief, wanting very much to run screaming from her surveying gaze, as if she could see right through his clothes.

"Be it as it may, I'm having the driver take us to a restaurant near the hotel, within walking distance. A decent meal, some light exercise, and a hot shower- you'll feel much better for the second round tomorrow. Then, we'll have Dr. Daystrom and the equipment. If that doesn't win them over, then we'll explore other options."

The meal was a gourmet's delight, but Sam found himself able to eat only half of his portion, sipping pensively at his water, and watching the door for most of the time they spent in the restaurant.

"Samuel, how is the headache?"

"It's bearable, Edward," Sam answered, feeling like a heel for the snappish tone to his voice. "I'm sorry. You're doing the best you can, but usually only Al can handle me when I'm in a mood like this. I need a computer, and maybe twelve hours of uninterrupted work to make me settle down."


	32. Chapter 32

Al returned home after seeing Sam off, and readied himself for the evening ahead. He felt edgy and irritable, dressing in the white uniform for which would probably be the last time. What he really wanted, he thought, staring in the mirror, was Sam. At his side at this thing, feeling the comfort of his presence and also, a hefty excuse to leave when he felt like it.

"Admiral?"

Frowning, Al turned, poking his head out of the bath, wondering who was there and why. His eyes widened at the unexpected female presence, waiting by the bedroom doorway.

"I brought you some things from the office." Hayley smiled timidly, noticing her ex-bosses surprised expression. "I hope I didn't intrude here, but you said to bring them by when I had a chance."

Taking the papers silently, Al glanced at the sheets, frowning. Most of the plans for the Imaging Process, and a few notes that Sam had made just before the first Leap. He'd vaguely wondered what had become of them, mostly personal in nature, mingled in the mountain of printouts and notes that had littered his office. He and Hayley had spent literally weeks sorting the mess out.

"They got mixed into some of mine," she said shortly. "The files on my personal file and others...I knew you wanted these back. I knew tonight they're having the party, and that you'd be going. I was invited, but..." She reddened, turning to leave. "I don't think I'll be going."

Moving to follow, Al cleared his throat, making her turn. He smiled at her pixy-like face, still wondering what had drawn the young aide to volunteer to serve with him during the years with PQL. "I want to, well, thank you, for doing such a great job, kiddo. All the years at the Project, just doing your job, not bitching or moaning when I was acting a little less...Admiral-like."

"You were never anything but professional, Admiral," she grinned. "In your neon green suit with the glow in the dark tie. You were always so different from the others, never fresh, or taking the advantage .of your rank. I appreciated that more than you can know. Sir."

"Well, you will be at that shindig tonight, Hayley. You have as much to do with it being held as anyone else that's attending. It wouldn't be complete without you. "

"I'm glad you feel that way, Admiral." Her blue eyes softened as she took his offered hand. Her fingers curled into his palm, smiling at the warm gaze she received. "I wanted to tell you...how much it meant to me to work with you. Things ended so suddenly, I never got the chance. We went through so much during the time Dr. Beckett was gone, and I didn't know him, until he'd returned."

"Hayley, you were the best, bar none." She practically fell into his arms, allowing the warm hug, just a tad tight. Pulling away, he frowned at the tears that fell down her face. "This isn't the end, Hayley," he said softly, tipping her head up with his hand, curving over her chin. "We'll keep in touch, maybe have you work with EarthSafe, our new Project. We can always use another hand..."

"This is the end, Admiral." She turned away, wiping her face with the back of her hand, sniffing. "I...I have some personal reasons. You're involved with Tina and I never expected..."

"Tina? What does she have to do with this?" His expression darkened as he wondered at what the other woman could've told her.

"I didn't want to interfere, but..." She tugged down the top of her uniform, straightening, making her decision. "Admiral, I love you." She didn't turn as she said the words, keeping her back to the man as she spoke.

"Love?" Al's mind went completely blank at her words. "Sweetheart, you're thirty some years younger than me, and pretty as a picture. There's hundreds, no thousands of guys out there just dying to... meet you." He placed his hand gently on her shoulder, slowly turning the girl to face him. Dark hair curled around her face, her huge eyes looking so sad, yet...familiar. Like another, perhaps. It was the raven black hair, the sorrow filled expression, like Beth's when... "Honey," he sighed. "I'm really sorry."

Her lips quivered for a moment. "I feel like an idiot, a total fool. I didn't come over here to spill my guts, and now that I have, and you know, I just want to curl up and die. Sir, I'm very sorry, myself."

"Hayley..." Any thoughts of doing otherwise passed completely out of his mind as he gripped her soft shoulders and touched his lips to hers. She responded, her hands swirling through his hair, unwittingly drawing them both to the bedroom.

They fell upon the bed, the mattress waving a moment as they tangled on the spread. Her hands unfastened his uniform, pulling open the jacket, fingers desperately clawing and tugging away the shirt and touching his chest. The moment her touch made contact, Al froze, breaking away from the embrace. He rolled away from her, falling on his back, hands wiping quickly against his eyes. "Damn it, I can't do this," he said softly. Sam. Old patterns, almost as if his subconscious took over, this evil little horny bastard wanting to screw the living bejeezus out of this girl, not even thinking once about the one who loved him beyond belief and would kick his ass to kingdom come if he knew about this. "God, I'm sorry, Hayley." He closed his eyes as he felt her weight shift as she got off the bed.

"It's all right." Her voice was soft, disappointment laced in each word. Soft lips touched his for a moment, then he heard her quietly leave the house, closing the door behind her. God, what had he done? If Sam knew for a moment that he'd done this, even the thought of fucking that woman, it would kill him. Correction, he thought, sitting up on the edge of the bed. He'll kill me.

He did his best to straighten his uniform, and grabbed his cap, slipping it over his head. The reflection in the mirror looked damned guilty, he decided, relieved for the moment that Sam Beckett was far away and couldn't see his eyes about now.

The hotel room was one of the best, Sam decided, adjoining Edward's. He toed off his shoes and fell back on the bed, closing his eyes against the pain behind them. Of course, he couldn't remember packing those new pills Swann had given him. Sighing, he sat up and pulled his bag over, pulling the clothes and underwear out haphazardly, hoping upon hope he'd tucked something in there that would help. Either that or he could call room service for an aspirin, like that would...

Smiling he pulled out the prescription bottle, tossing it in his hand and catching it deftly. Al. They were two halves of a whole, his friend seeing he hadn't packed it and being considerate enough not to remind him; just tucking it in with the rest of the stuff.

He took the medication, washing it down with lukewarm tap water, and undressing, readying for bed. It was almost ten; Al would be at his party now, trying to be miserable, and failing madly the second he was around his old buddies. Trading stories, drinking...hopefully, not too much, and having a grudgingly good time.

Then, as he was leaving the bath, the first of the quivers hit his stomach again. God. He frowned, frightened at the suddenness of the sensation, wondering what the hell had brought it on. Trying to shake it off, he grabbed his briefcase decidedly and plopped back on the king size bed, spreading the paperwork out and trying his best to concentrate on the work at hand.

No dice. It seemed to be getting worse, he thought, eyes widening, folding into himself. Sprawled over the printouts, shaking with each frightening tremble that racked his body. It was getting harder to breathe, almost gulping for each gasp of air. After what seemed hours, it passed, just the faintest trace of curling in his stomach. He shoved the papers onto the floor and pulled the spread around him, deciding not to get up to turn off the light. The moment he closed his eyes, the panic hit again, worse than before. He sat up, gasping for air again, feeling he was just on the verge of hyperventilation. Consciously, he pulled into himself, trying his best to use the methods he'd been taught long ago, to slow his respiration and calm his quaking nerves.

Nothing, not even during the Leaps had frightened him as much as this sudden, stormlike attack. His entire body went cold, chilled in the warm room. In a moment, he felt himself calm to a point where he could reach for the remote and switch the television on to a music channel, turning the sound down to an almost audible level. The noise seemed to keep his attention numbed and, finally, he fell into a restless sleep.

"Another scotch," Al decided, taking the drink from the bartender's hand and downing it before the man even set it down on the counter.

"Same old Bingo."

Al turned on the stool, patting the one next to him. Chip, Stacker, and Max, old Navy buddies all, practically lifted from his position, dumping him on the floor. They'd had enough of the formal party, and had moved it to a local bar near White Sands, reminiscing far into the night, giving into drunken debauchery. More than anything, Al drank to absolve the guilt he was feeling about what seemed a minor indiscretion now. Hayley hadn't showed up at the party, much to his relief.

Chip scooped him off the floor. The guy was still strong, older, but with a great physique and same smile. "Bingo, you're a mess. We should be getting you home."

"If I hear Stacker tell that old story about me one more time..." Al glanced at the white haired man leaning over a table regaling the inhabitants of the old Pensacola trip they'd taken so long ago. "Chip, we're getting old."

"You can say that again, buddy." Chip hefted the mug of beer, sipping at it, taking in his old friend. Al was getting up there, he knew, but looking better than the others and himself combined. Just a touch of gray, looking tired and depressed, but with a sharp tongue nevertheless.

"What the hell time is it, anyway?" Al frowned. His watch was drawing a blank, probably from having that champagne dumped on him, maybe the last straw for the well-used instrument.

"Almost two. I've got that damned flight out tomorrow and it's back to working the rig, making sure the boys kept the damned thing in one piece." Chip grinned. "Never knew I'd end up in the oil fields, didja Bingo?"

"Or that I'd retire after over forty years."

"Never thought you'd stick with it that long, Bingo, but you did. Five marriages. I stood up with you at that first one, Beth?"

"Yeah." Al snatched at his drink, swigging what remained.

"You're not married now, though."

"Feels like it," he said, trying to avoid the subject. He wasn't quite sure what Chip would make of the relationship he had now, and wasn't about to find out. "I need another drink."

"Bud, you need to go home and crash out." Chip laid his large hands over Al's, his eyes meeting the brown, bloodshot ones across from him. "You're hurting, over something. After all these years, I know. Bingo. We always could read each other. You don't drink like a fish, not unless something's weighing heavy on your mind. If you don't want to talk about it, I'll understand, but know I'm around, for at least tonight, if you want to spill it. I haven't seen you this worked up since Lisa went back to her husband."

"Lisa." He snorted at that, remembering the hurt that had filled him when she'd gone back to the bastard. Then, he'd met Beth, and everything faded away. Now...he'd probably lost Sam. He'd have to tell him, or live with the lie the rest of their lives and lose him anyway.

"Bingo, will you please talk to me. We don't have secrets, pal. It may be years between meetings, but..." Chip sighed, seeing nothing but darkness in his friend's eyes. "I'll tell the guys I'm taking you home. We can talk there, and we will talk. Bingo."

They left the other partiers at the bar, Chip half-carrying his drunken Admiral to his car. Hat tilted askew, Al leaned heavily against the passenger side, eyes closed. Not asleep, not by a long shot.

Once they got to the house, Al made a beeline to the bathroom, finding himself getting embarrassingly sick in the toilet. Chip's sympathetic presence wasn't helping any, but at least he knew this weakness wouldn't go beyond the door. He tore the soiled uniform from his body, and slipped into a worn jumpsuit that he found, discovering, to his chagrin, it was one of Sam's, oversize and bulky on his smaller frame. Clean, at least, and comforting, in it's way.

"You look like a drowning victim, bud." Chip was in the kitchen, brewing coffee. The aroma was fantastic, making Al feel alive again. "All right. Bingo. We're alone. Talk to me."

The brown eyes that met Al's were concerned and waiting. Chip set a hot cup in front of him, and sat on the stool next to him. "Funny," Al said, half-grinning. "Every discussion we have in this house takes place around this damned kitchen."

"Why were you getting so polluted. Bingo? Is it retirement?" A shake of the head. "If not that, then tell me what? It's someone, very important, and you're hurting because of it. I'm listening, and want to help whatever way I can, but only if you..."

"How long have we been friends?"

"Over forty years. A damned long time."

"I'm involved...right now." Al glanced away, worried at what reaction his old partner would have to what he had to say. "With someone who is everything to me. Everything."

"Who? I remember that one number, the last time-Tina?"

"No. She's left me, a long time ago."

"Then it's Sam Beckett."

Al felt his heart pound as Chip said the words, hands gripping the hot cup between sweating palms. "Yes."

"It's okay. Bingo. It doesn't change a thing between us. I like the kid, from the things you've said about him. I had this feeling about the two of you, just the team you made."

"Chip, you were never this liberal. I was the one with the women, the one who screwed around as indiscriminately as a rabbit. That's why Lisa went back to her husband-fucked around all the time on her, just like all the others, except Beth."

"And that's what happened today. Someone got to you, and you went off like a rocket. It's old patterns, Bingo. Sam must mean a lot to you to have you this messed up about it."

"My secretary-ex-aide. We didn't go beyond first base, but I feel like a fucking bastard." Al felt the tightness in his chest grip him, as sure as Chip's hand on his forearm. "I don't want him to leave me. Chip. It's going to happen, sure as shooting, the minute I tell him."

"You have changed, more than you realize. You're actually going to tell him and not let him find out on his own, like Lisa had to." Chip grinned at the look he received. "Hell, she came running to me when you two broke up over that little ensign. Told me the whole story, how she'd walked in on you both and had the shit shocked out of her."

"And now I'm living with a man. Doesn't that upset you?"

"If it's good, and you two are making it work, then fine. I'm no prude, Bingo. I've seen it all. in 'Nam. Guys that stayed together, loved each other, and worked as a team, like one person. Sometimes I envied them, and what they had, and cried if one of them died. You've got your other half, and it's great if it's what you want."

"I want, Chip. More than you'll know." Chip's arm came around his shoulders, comforting, accepting of everything, as he had always done. "You are the best," Al said, rubbing his weary eyes. "Nothing seems to faze you."

"Except my oldest, coloring his hair bright pink and running off with a bunch of crazies from San Antonio. He came around. I told Clyde it was his life, and so be it. End of argument. We get along now, even if I can't understand some of what he's saying." His voice became intense, making sure Al heard every word. "Listen, pal. Tell him. All of it. He'll understand, especially when he finds out you didn't do anything to her. I have this feeling he'll be pissed for a while, but manage, and take you back. After he beats the living daylights out of you. 'Bout time someone did that. I can tell by that outfit you're wearing he's a big guy, bigger'n you, and can really kick your can if he has a mind to."

"Thanks, Chip." Al sighed, feeling the confession that had been weighing on him lift just the slightest at everything he'd told his friend. "I have to give him a call, but it's too late."

"It'll wait till tomorrow, then." Chip got up, taking Al's arm. "I'm going to dump you in bed, and crash myself. I have an early flight in the morning, bud."

The big bed was pretty empty, Al decided, without Sam in it. He heard Chip turning off all the lights, use the bathroom, then hit the other bedroom. Snoring

began, almost immediately, making him remember back in their plebe days, and staying awake, finally lulled to sleep by Chip's sinus's. Gathering Sam's pillow into his arms, he curled around it as best he could, finally letting the peaceful darkness drift over him.

Drayton arrived in D.C. the next morning, with his dark-haired wife Carol. They greeted Sam enthusiastically, Carol clucking over his weight loss, surveying him with her huge, golden brown eyes, glancing worriedly over at Kevin.

"I remember that look, Carol," Sam replied gently, hugging the woman close. "I'm still recovering from my little...trip. It's good to see you both."

"You look like you didn't sleep all night." Carol glanced over at Edward. "Did he go to bed early?"

Sam had spent time with the Drayton's as a student, and felt like Carol was another mother, someone who always seemed more concerned about his health than he was. "I went to bed at ten, and fell right to sleep," he lied, knowing she'd see through it as always.

"What we all need is a good breakfast," Edward said quickly. He'd noticed Sam's red-rimmed gaze this morning, and dragged out lines on the man's face, but hadn't commented on it. If Sam wanted to talk about it, he would be open to listen. Maybe it was aftereffects of the headache he'd noticed the night before. "I know a wonderful place, near the Pentagon. Then, we can do our demonstration, and have the rest of the day for whatever you'd like."

As the morning wore on, Sam noted, with relief, that whatever had caused his panic of the night before was completely gone with the light of day. He found himself eating most of his breakfast that Edward ordered, not quite liking the taste of salmon on toast first thing in the morning, but eating it anyway. Carol's eyes remained on him the entire meal, as if counting every bite he took. He tried to veer around her worry by chattering with Kevin, catching up on what he'd been doing over the past three and a half years. In turn, the other man wanted to know everything about time travel, most of which, Sam was duty bound to keep quiet. Although Kevin had limited clearance, he couldn't give him specifics, but could tell him anything he wanted about the Imaging Process and how well it had worked, providing him with Al's constant presence on the Leaps.

The equipment had been delivered, and once they arrived, Sam and Kevin worked at setting it up, swearing and sweating over some of the larger components. Heads together like small children building a sand castle, Carol and Edward watched like indulgent parents, Kyle's quiet presence ever watchful, taking special care to make sure no one disturbed them as they worked.

Machinery set to humming, the place filled with holographic images; birds, tropical trees, everything encompassing the room. The olfactory sensations would be added later, during the actual demonstration to the public.

Sam stepped back, satisfied that all was in place. The officials were arriving, eyes wide with amazement at the show. He exchanged a triumphant look with Kevin, warming at the other man's encouraging look. They had to let them do it now; it was more than anything that had ever been seen before.


	33. Chapter 33

Chapter 21

"They seemed pleased, Samuel."

"They didn't care. It was a toy, amusing and innovative, but just another fascinating bit of fluff. They won't give us the venue. You heard them."

Drayton was just as furious as Sam, keeping pace with the other man, Kyle at his shoulder. "They damn well made their decision before we even went in the place." His soft nasal tone was sharp, stopping at the car as Sam did. "So, we go on to Canada, and tell them to go..."

"Gentlemen, gentlemen..." Edward soothed, unlocking the vehicle. "I will make my contacts work for us, and we'll have a venue in British Columbia before you can blink."

"Great. That'll work out terrific. No one will give a shit." Sam felt himself shake unwillingly, just wanting another six hours of sleep.

Carol drew him in the car next to her, letting Kevin go in the front, and Kyle to sit on Sam's other side. "You're about to pop a blood vessel, Sam. Calm down. It's over. Half the fight is over. You get so worked up...like Kevin does."

"That's right, make me sound like a raving lunatic," her husband retorted.

"If the shoe fits..."

Sam slumped in the seat, eyes forward as they drove through the streets of D.C. He was blind to the sights, even the sunlight. "We'll have to inform the media, really use them," he said, voice flat and emotionless, thinking through as he spoke. "If that doesn't help, then EarthSafe and this whole thing is going to pot."

"Samuel, will you please be more optimistic?" A touch of annoyance in Edward's tone made Sam pause. "This is not the Samuel Beckett who enthused about his other project not so long ago. It will work, if we make it. Relax, enjoy the day with your friends around you, and realize that everything isn't perfect. Not every time."

"So, we can go home?" Sam said hopefully.

"Not quite, Samuel. We have a meeting with the Canadians tomorrow. I took the liberty of making the appointment should we not convince the U.S. of our intentions."

"And you're telling me to be optimistic."

"Sam?" Carol leaned over, eyeing the physicist with concern. "What is wrong with you? I've never, in all the years we've known each other, heard so much sullenness from you. You were always a light, excited and happy about every aspect of your research."

"You're playing shrink on me, Carol." Sam said the words with a mild grin, defusing the sharp tone he'd addressed her with the expression.

"Of course. It's my best asset."

The first of the old stirrings from the night before touched Sam's stomach as they pulled up in front of the hotel. He gritted his teeth against it, willing the waves to go away, at least until he was safely in his room and away from concerned eyes. It was a relief to jump out of the car and plead off lunch. His explanation, that he wanted to call Al and just mellow out, seemed to convince everyone but Carol, who watched him warily as the elevator doors closed.

Kyle remained at his shoulder, an almost unseen, quietly supportive presence. His room was opposite his, one side Edward, the shadow watching his back on the other. "Thanks for coming along, Kyle," Sam said, the shake not quite in his voice yet. "You've been very discreet about all this."

"I'm very good at my job, Dr. Beckett." A grin passed over the taller man's broad features. "Maybe the best."

"Are you staying in New Mexico?"

"No." Kyle's eyes were on the elevator indicator, watching as each floor number blinked on and off. "I've had enough, just enough to make me realize I'm not a desert dweller. Maybe I'll go to the Yukon, or Alaska. I want to drift for a while, and discover life. I've spent most of my life in and out of academies, and the military. Now, I'm free, and I want to live."

"Sounds... great." Sam wondered if he and Al would be allowed that luxury someday, just traveling here and there, discovering the world together. It seemed a distant impossibility now.

"And, you need that, too. Do you dream about just ditching it all, going off and..." Kyle shook his head. "What am I saying? You've lived that, going to places, seeing every sort of thing. I hear things from people on the base, just the barest of details, but it fascinates me. It's the most amazing adventure anyone could have ever undertaken. I'm really honored to know you, Dr. Beckett."

Reddening slightly, Sam stepped out of the elevator when it landed on their floor. "I must sound, as Al would say, whiny, to you right now." Kyle was right; he'd seen almost everything, experienced things only a few people could lay claim to.

"They can't see your work. I have this suspicion that they know something you don't know, not yet." Kyle stood by the door as Sam looked up from sliding the card in the slot to open it. "That was one of many reasons I decided to quit the military. I kept my nose clean, watched everything. Sir, I'd watch my back if I were you. They viewed the display this morning as if it were routine, not a touch of impression. Like you said, as if it were a toy. For now, I'd suggest you take it to Canada, as soon as possible, and demonstrate it there. The U.S. is an out."

"Because-they have it already, and won't use it." Sam felt the pit of his stomach cave in at the realization. "Don't tell this to Kevin, not yet, Kyle. Or Edward. I'll tell them, in time. Somehow, they got our records, all the diagrams when they tore down the Project."

"A Xerox machine works wonders, and copying disks—that's nothing." Kyle checked the room over before Sam entered, then, grinning tightly, left him to his own devices. When the door closed behind him, Kyle remained in the hall, deciding to stay outside instead of going to his own room, watchful for anyone who came down the hall. He'd always trusted his senses, especially now, and was more watchful than ever, looking forward to being out of this city soon.

Sam practically ran for the phone, punching in the number for home as quickly as he could. It rang five times before the answering machine picked up. It was nine a.m. in New Mexico, Sam noted, and Al should be at least home, if not awake and moving by now. The machine had Ziggy's voice, an afternoon whimsy, on his part, feeling silly one lazy day. Al had shook his head over the message, preferring a more conservative one, than the thing Sam had programmed Ziggy to say. "You have reached 555-2424. Please, if you have any depth of humanity whatsoever, leave your name and number at the beep. Thank you."

He left the message, "Al, call me as soon as you can." and added, "I miss you," as an afterthought. As he hung the phone up, he wondered why the older man hadn't called at all since he'd arrived the day before. Himself, he'd spoken to the answering machine twice, once upon arrival, and now. Maybe Al was still out with his old pals, or maybe packing for the trip, although there was a phone in the bedroom. Sometimes, Sam recalled, Al switched the phone off purely on instinct. This might be one of those times.

He stripped off his suit, slipping into cutoffs and sweatshirt, curling up on the bed for a nap, vetoing calling room service for now. His stomach was becoming exceptionally jumpy after Kyle's revelation and he couldn't guarantee if he could keep a bit of food down once he'd eaten. With the little amount of sleep he'd managed the night before, he found himself falling into the depths quickly, the television still quietly playing music videos.

He awoke gasping for breath, the room somewhat dimmed, as evening fell. The horrifying feeling was back, full force, colliding into his nerves, forcing him to sit up and try to breathe. He gulped for air, feeling every drawn breath choke him. His chest hurt from gasping, the panic making each gasp come quicker; hyperventilation. The room was beginning to spin, dizziness setting in as he tried vainly to draw just one good breath.

"Here." A bag from some fast food meal was placed over his mouth and nose. Edward's cool fingers pressing against his back, soothing him as he breathed in and out, hearing the rustle of paper as he gasped. "Slowly, Samuel, take it easy. I'm here, and it's going to be fine."

Once his breathing eased into a more normal pattern, Sam fell back against the bed, blinking against the image of the concerned man sitting on the edge of the mattress. "How did you know?" he managed.

"We returned some time ago. The Daystrom's went to their room and when I arrived here, I heard a sound of distress through the bathroom door. What is going on, Samuel?"

"I. . . don't. . . know." He was as near to tears as he'd ever been in front of anyone besides Al. Frustration at the suddenness of the incomprehensible attack, compiled with the one the night before made the tears flow unwittingly from his eyes. "It scared the hell out of me. It's not asthma, nothing respiratory. Just this... panicked feeling, then I have trouble catching my breath. Once I'm home..."

"I'm going to call Carol, Samuel. No objections. She's a doctor as well as a psychiatrist, and might have something that can help you. It's this whole thing, the way those in charge are treating your invention, compiled with things I'm not sure you realize are bothering you. Sara had attacks like this, when I first met her, sudden, devastating panic, hyperventilation, as you were, absolutely frightened out of her mind."

"Edward, don't call Al about this, please." It was clear, in the look Sam received that had been primary on the other man's mind. "He'll be here tomorrow, and I don't want to scare him. He's protective enough without having him hover around right now, making me more nervous than I am already. God, I hate this. It's so out of control." Like leaping, he thought, wondering if that had something to do with it.

Carol and Kevin came as soon as Edward called, the woman looking worried and insisting Sam take the mild sedative she prescribed. "Prom what you've told me, Sam, you're showing all the symptoms of panic attacks. They can be controlled with medication. Don't make a face." She didn't smile at the grimace, glancing over at her husband's face across from her. "I'm not pushing them down your throat, but I would like to know what you were doing when these came on."

"I was sleeping, damn it. Dead out of it, and not thinking much about anything except how much I wanted to sleep." A belligerent tone crept into Beckett's voice, wondering just how many Verbena clones he could handle in a lifetime. "The first one hit last night. I was getting ready for bed, and it just slammed into me. Not as bad as this one, not quite."

"Do you have a regular therapist, Sam? I could call them, and have..."

"No!" Sam snapped the word, instantly regretting it. "Sorry. You're just trying to help me out, and I can deal with this once I get home. I will deal with it, because I hate it, it scares the shit out of me."

"I'm convinced." Kevin's gaze was sympathetic, remembering a stage of his own life when he and Carol had been on the verge of divorce, and feeling everything go out of control during that time. "When is Al arriving?"

"Tomorrow." Edward was standing at the end of the bed, looking pensive and thoughtful. "That'll be soon enough. I'll be fine, I mean it. It's getting late and I've basically unsettled everyone's evening."

"Sam, I think you need him here, now."

"If I needed a keeper, I'd ask for one. I'm not an invalid, Carol. Thank you for your consideration, and worry, but it's... it's not necessary. I don't want pills to sleep, or keep me from freaking." Involuntarily, the shakes began again, as if triggered by agitation, or just missing Al more than he knew.

"We'll leave you with Edward, Sam." Carol took Kevin's arm drawing him with her from the room. She'd loved Sam from the moment he'd come into their lives, his enthusiasm, his intelligence, the way he made her husband turn into a little kid, bubbling over with excitement at every theory or idea they came up with. Seeing the man in this state, so upset, to the point of trembling like a leaf, frightened her. The professional side of her wanted to treat him, make him take the meds, and coerce his pain from him. Knowing Sam Beckett as she did, and how stubborn he was, only Albert Calavicci seemed to be able to break him from whatever mood he was in. It had been that way for years, before his Project. She closed the room door behind her and Kevin, and let her husband hug her close for a moment.

"He's a wreck." Kevin's voice was quavering on the edge of worry. "It's from the experiment, all of it."

"Kevin, he's not dealing with something, and until he does, he's going to have more problems. Edward seems to be able to handle him better than I can, and maybe if we let them talk it out, he'll handle things better tomorrow until the Admiral arrives."

Stumbling into the bathroom, Al blinked at the bright light reflecting off the porcelain. The inside of his mouth felt like the dead lived there, and his eyes were bloodshot to the point where he couldn't see where the brown ended and the whites began. The moment he saw his reflection, he remembered why he felt as bad as he did.

He took a hot, hot shower, letting the steam and scrubbing do it's best to wash the guilt from his system. It didn't work. He tried to convince himself that he'd barely touched the girl, that a kiss exchanged didn't constitute infidelity, did it? No, but what he really had wanted to do still stuck deep in his mind. He'd stopped himself, but not soon enough. And, when he told Sam, and he would tell him, the kid would be hurt, badly.

A note from Chip was sitting on the kitchen counter. He smiled at the words, knowing it would be a while until he saw his friend again. His presence the night before had done him a world of good. The answering machine was blinking, indicating a message was waiting for him. He pressed the playback button, then frowned as Sam's voice came over the speaker.

The voice was just on the edge of desperation. Normal, down to the 'I miss you,' but the finest indication that Sam was feeling down about something. Probably the damned nozzles on the Hill, working him over like the pros they were. He lifted the cellular up, hesitating before punching in the number. Would his voice sound different to Sam? The kid was so damned intuitive at times, especially when it came to him.

The desk at the hotel rang him through to Sam's room. It rang once before it was snatched up, and Edward's quiet, "Hello?"

"Edward? How's it going?"

"Swimmingly, Admiral." Edward's usually dulcet tones were flat and sarcastic, almost biting. "Are you flying in tomorrow?"

"I was planning on it. Put Sam on the phone."

"In a moment. He's in the bath. Admiral?" His voice became low, as if keeping his words out of Sam's earshot. "Call my room, 1763, after you speak to him. I do not like this kind of centrifuge, but it's for Dr. Beckett's sake."

"What's wrong?" Al felt his hands slip on the phone for a moment, trying his best to contain his anxiety. "I take it negotiations with those bastards broke down."

"You could say that. Sam is here, now. He can tell you more."

"Al?"

Sam's voice was all business, nothing of desperate worry in it, but bothering Al just the same. "Okay, spill it, Sam. What's going on?"

"We're almost finished. You don't even have to fly out here if you don't want to. If things go as planned, we'll be home tomorrow night."

"Well, that might be okay for you, Sam, but not me." Al made his decision. "I'll be in D.C. probably later in the evening, but I will be there, Sam. Tomorrow. You're doing okay, otherwise?"

"As best I can. It's all like a damned bad dream, Al. I just want to come home, but we've got this meeting with the Canadians. Maybe we'll just put the whole thing off until EarthSafe is established. I'll tell you more when I see you."

Now there was the tone, Al thought. Just on the edge of depression, and not really giving a shit about much of anything. "They're plain fools, Sam. The idiots. How is Drayton taking all of this?"

"I don't know. You sound pretty strange." A touch of the old tease came into Sam's voice. "Hangover, I'd guess. How was the party?"

"Stunk. Boring. Went out with the guys, did a little reminiscing, spent some time in a bar, and came home. Chip came over, spent the night. That's about it." He sounded flippant and knew Sam could hear the hesitation in his voice.

"You can tell me more tomorrow. I'll see you soon." His voice faded at that point, making Al frown again at the way his tone quavered. That and Edward asking him to call him privately. Something was definitely up.

"Night, kiddo. Oh, and I sold your bike."

"You what?" There was no alarm in his voice, or chiding. Just that dead sound again, as if he hadn't quite heard what he'd said.

"Sold the bike. Just kidding, Sam. Get some sleep." When Al hung up the phone, he felt a part of him break away and shatter. His Sam wasn't on that phone, none of the careful double entendres like there had been the last time they were apart, or gentle kidding.

He waited a half an hour before dialing Edward's room and hoping he was there. It seemed their new friend had taken his words to heart, and was taking care of Sam as he'd asked. The phone on the other end was picked up and Al didn't wait for the greeting. "Talk to me, Edward. I want to know everything."

"First and foremost, Sam did not want me to ring you up, Albert. He's in a bad way, and I needn't tell you that you're needed. Immediately. If you wish, I can make the arrangements, but it would be a help if you were here tonight. It's not late, only seven. You can be in the Capitol by ten, I believe, if my estimations are correct."

"What's wrong with him, Edward?" Al did nothing to keep the worry out of his voice. It was surefire that the other man would hear it and tell him everything.

"He's handling business with the utmost decorum, but physically and mentally. I'm afraid he's not doing all that well. Carol Daystrom has indicated that he's having panic attacks. He most certainly misses you. and wishes you were here. Maybe your presence will perk him up. The reaction to his and Daystrom's invention, " Edward added, with a touch of ice in his voice, "Has been less than splendid. I'm very certain that contributed to his current condition."

"Don't tell Sam. I'll be there tonight if I have to sprout wings." Brushing aside his own guilty feelings, he made his decision. "You keep an eye on him, sit on him, if necessary. -I'll be there in three hours."


	34. Chapter 34

The room was closing in on him again. Sam felt grateful for Edward's quiet presence, a white sweatshirt and casual slacks replacing his perfectly tailored suit. He'd slept some, but not nearly as well as he had before that last attack. Finally, he felt himself relax in the man's company enough to doze, staring at the television set.

Then, it hit again, the gasping for breath, Edward's hands gripping his arms, pleading for him to breathe. "Just breathe, Samuel. Even, slow breaths. That's it, good." His voice was encouraging, making him calm just a moment between another round of overwhelming panic. He writhed in the man's grasp for a moment, then struggled for a breath, gasping into the worn bag again, until he soothed down into a normal respiratory rhythm.

"Let me call Carol, Sam." Edward settled him back against the pillows. "A doctor, someone. You're looking decidedly ill, and it seems to be getting worse."

"We don't need the publicity, Edward. I learned that much from Al. They'll grab at any weakness, any of it, and I can't let that damage our chances with the Project." He was trying to force back the involuntary tears, wiping the moisture from his face with shaking hands. "Why is this happening to me, now?"

"I've been through this with Sara, Samuel. Her husband died, under dire circumstances, and she seemed fine for a while until six months or so later. I was frightened by the way the attacks would hit, at any given time, day or night. If Eddie was a moment late from school, or I didn't arrive home on time for dinner without calling, she'd practically stop breathing. I got her the best of therapy, once we realized what it was, and she went on medication until it lessened and went away. She recovered completely, Samuel, and so will you. I have a feeling you haven't dealt with the end of your first Project, or what you went through during it. I'm no psychiatrist, but I am quite... intuitive."

"That's what Al says about me, Edward. Sometimes I wonder how much I really know, or how considerate I am to him at times." The shakes hit again, and the overwhelming, unreasonable fear. His lungs wheezed, every gasp an almost asthmatic sound. He didn't know how much more he could take. Closing his eyes, Sam felt warm hands curve around his, the bed adjusting for a moment as Edward reseated himself on the bed. Edward?

"Sam, c'mon, kiddo." Looking decidedly windblown, Al pulled the man close, letting the tawny head fall on his shoulder, shocked at the scene he'd beheld as he'd entered the room. "Ease out, Sam. It's me, I'm here, and I'm staying. There," Al said quietly, smoothing his hands over the younger man's tense shoulders. "Thanks, Edward."

"Glad to be of service, Albert." The Englishman left the room, leaving the two men to sort things out privately.

Relief washed over Sam like a cool rain, subduing the panic, all of it. He practically melted against his friend, glad of his presence, not really giving a damn how it had come about.

"Sam, Sam. I'm right here. Sit back now, and talk to me." Sam tilted his head back, keeping his hand in Al's, closing his eyes. "You look like hell, kid. Terrible in fact." A short laugh from the other man, Al touching the tearstained face a moment before continuing. "Don't blame Edward. It was my decision to hop that plane. Gave the airline hell, and managed a seat."

"I can imagine." The greenish eyes opened, satisfaction and peace shining from them. "Everything evened out the moment you held me. Maybe 'Bena is right, that I'm too dependent on you."

"Bullshit. It's more than that, Sam. You can handle the separation; it's still the damned leaps. I called Verbena before I came out. She's setting you up with a program as soon as we get home, and make you talk out those leaps until you recover from them. I'm sorry I went behind your back like that, but I didn't know what else to do while I waited for the flight. She needed to know, Sam."

"I'm not upset, and I really want to stop this. Why did it have to hit now, here in D.C. and not at home? God, it scared the hell out of me."

"You should've called me the first time, Sam. Maybe you tried, and I wasn't home. The damned beeper..." He'd forgotten it after that incident with Hayley, too rattled to remember to grab it before leaving the house.

"How did your party go?"

"I'm out of the Navy, officially. On a decent pension, the works. Retired. It feels strange, but I'll get used to it." Sam's eyes were pleading with him, knowing what the kid expected. He bent and kissed him warmly, that inkling of guilt still clinging to him.

Sam felt the hesitation in the kiss, and frowned, pulling away. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing. I..."

"Something's up. You're cold, acting...what did you do at that party, Al?"

"Got bombed, Sam. Broiled, drunk as a skunk. Other than that..."

"Who was there? Any ex-girlfriends?"

"Damn it, Sam. You're suspecting stuff that..." He bit back the words, hearing the clear guilt in his voice. "Kid, I'll tell you stuff later. You're pretty much a mess right now."

"Who was she?" Sam reinforced the grip on the older man's arms, his expression no nonsense. "I want it all, now, or I'm going to go ballistic and raise so much hell Edward is going to call the police."

"You wouldn't."

"Try me."

"Sam, it happened, and I didn't do more than kiss her. That was it, the whole thing."

"Who?"

"Hayley. She had a crush on me the whole time and waited until the last moment to tell me. I knew what I'd lose if I went all the way with her, and I stopped it before it was too late."

"You don't realize what I've been through today, Al. I don't understand what's happening to me, and I've been frightened. Witless, past the point of fear. I have to absolutely trust what you've said to me, now. You were the only thing that kept me sane, the thought of you." He swung himself off the bed, gaze darkening, trying very hard to bite back the hurt-filled words he really wanted to say. Snatching his running pants from the pile of folded clothes near the dresser, he tugged off the shorts and slipped into them, followed by his sneakers. The tears were just on the very edge, he thought, leaning over the dresser. In another moment, he'd lose control.

"Sam."

Turning his anguished face to the other man, he almost gasped at the true pain and remorse that filled Al's expression. The dark eyes were filled with moisture, spilling out and down his cheeks.

"I hurt you, damn it. I held her in my arms and forgot. Like we were nothing, and when I realized what I was doing..."

"Okay, Al. Stop it." Sam gritted his teeth, closing his eyes. "We're going for a walk, and try to talk this all out. I've had enough of this room, and I can't take much more of your apology. You told me the truth, didn't hide or cover up anything, and I'm missing you. Badly. Regardless of Hayley, all of it, I still love you, you bastard. Start thinking with your head, and not your glands."

"Now, one minute." Al began.

"What I said was perfectly justified, and don't deny it. You blew up when I made that harmless pass at the waitress in Idaho. Don't forget that, and how you felt then. And I don't deny that I did it on purpose, just to see you get angry. We had it out over that, and once it was over, things got back to normal. Allow me to be pissed off, please, or I'm going to knock you into tomorrow and beyond."

"I blew it, once. Once. I'll never do it again because I don't want to see that look in your eyes again. Damn it, kid, face it. You're stuck with me." Al kept his tone light, rasping from the way his throat closed at the tiny smile that appeared on his lover's face. "If you'll feel better, give me one of those flying noodle kicks you're so famous for, and finish me off. Or let me take you out for some of the greatest pizza you've ever had in your life."

"I'll go for the pizza, Al." Sam turned in Al's embrace and kissed him once, lightly, the embrace deepening as he felt the other man's fingers smooth through his hair. He gasped against Al's half open mouth for a moment as they broke apart, his tongue licking once against his lover's lower lip before drawing back. "Among other things."

"You really want me?"

"I can forgive a kiss, and care less about the rest right now." Coaxing Al out of his clothes was nothing, and he stripped quickly himself, falling back onto the bed, closing his eyes as he felt every inch of Al's body press against his.

The older man placed every bit of love and longing into the kisses he placed reverently on Sam's chest, licking and petting the lightly haired body down to where the erect organ waited. He craved the feel of Sam's cock in his mouth, as he wrapped his lips around the crown. It had been so long, it seemed, almost forever. Smoothly, he took him, as much as would fill his mouth, sucking gently, laving with his tongue against the base and moving carefully up and down against the warm flesh.

"Al. ..." Sam gasped, closing his eyes as he felt the warm cum seep from him, the other man's tongue lapping wetly at every drop. He loved him with every fiber of his being, for his care and the sweet way he took him. Al's mouth moved lower, tonguing his ass, until he was ready, almost crying with wanting his cock in him.

Hesitating, Al moved off the bed and went to the bathroom, returning with a small tube of Vaseline. It was all they had, Sam having a habit of using the stuff to keep his lips from becoming dry. It would have to do, for now.

Unable to keep the laughter from bubbling over at the sight of Al brandishing the tiny tube, Sam felt himself shake, unable to contain it. The older man was making a face, his expression breaking up with his uncontrolled outburst.

"Damn it. kid, you pick the worst moments to break the damned mood." Al fell back on the bed, smiling tenderly at the smiling face next to him. "I'm trying to screw you, Sam. You have to make do sometimes, and this," he said, holding the thing up. "Is it!"

Sam rolled over and kissed Al thoroughly, from forehead to lips, clinging for a moment, before brushing his fingers gently against Al's rapidly re-arousing organ. It was warm beneath his hand, the skin so smooth and strong. For a moment, he gripped it tightly, just a fraction short of causing pain. He was nose to nose with Al, keeping his hand possessively around his cock. "You're all mine, Al. Don't forget that, or how I'm holding you now. I love every solid inch of you, even when you're being a bastard because I know in my soul you love me as much as I do you. I can't live without you. Even if you'd screwed her."

Al felt the grip ease, the greenish eyes slitting in passion as Sam laid on his back, waiting. Taking the tube, Al applied Vaseline to his cock and soothed it into Sam's opening. The velvet softness was just easing, warm and ready for him. In a moment, he was in him, gripped and held tightly, the butt muscles fitting around him perfectly, just the slightest friction as he moved inside Sam's body. Sweat poured from him as he thrust, hearing the other man's voice as from a distance, whispering words of love and longing that made him come almost immediately. He fell atop the perspiring body of his lover, kissing his throat, remaining in him as long as his softening cock would allow.

They showered together, quietly, in deference to Edward and Kyle's adjoining rooms. It was a pure pleasure to just hold each other under the spray, letting the warm water caress their bodies as their mouths clung together.

Sam was beautiful, Al thought, looking up into the hazel depths. Too damned thin, and more worry lines added around those eyes, but. God, how the kid loved him. Just the faintest swelling of his lips, and the way his damp hair clung to that strong neck and shoulders.

"Your hair is getting pretty long, Sam," Al said, wrapping a towel around the other man as he stepped from the shower.

"I'm growing it for you, love." Sam grinned. "You love me for that stuff, all the way down to my ass, if that's what you want."

Smiling softly, Al remembered what it felt like to pull against the red brown hair, the soft curls at the ends tangling in his fingers. "Not down that far," Al joked softly. "It'd play hell with the view."

They dressed and took a long walk, Kyle popping his head out of his room for a moment and deciding the Admiral would take very good care of his charge before he quietly closed the door.

It was late, and few people were out on the Mall. Al let Sam take his hand, not caring very much who saw the way they held each other. Lights glowed, accenting the white monuments against the dark sky. They finally made it to the Washington Monument, alone together, taking in the beauty of the place, and the simplicity of the quiet. Sam bent and wordlessly took Al's mouth, feeling the other man warm beneath his lips, moving and sucking gently before they parted.

The glow from the monuments lit Sam's face, Al almost breathing a sigh of relief at the pain erased from his smooth features. Wrapping his left arm around the slim waist, Al rested his head on Sam's shoulder, feeling the embrace returned, soft lips resting in his hair for a moment.

"Al," Sam finally said. "Somehow, you can't let me stay mad at you, not for long. "

"I'll never..."

"Don't say it." Sam sighed, wrapping his arms around his lover for a moment and quickly releasing. "I trust you. I love you."


	35. Chapter 35

Chapter 22

When they finally returned to the hotel, Sam simply fell into bed, cuddling as close to Al as he could, drinking in every soothing word and touch. Still, even with his lover's protective body next to him, he felt that shaky feeling in the pit of his stomach, not quite as bad as before, but persistent and a constant.

"It's coming back, isn't it?" Al whispered, kissing Sam softly on the cheek.

"Yes." Sam melted in the strong arms around him, burying his face against Al's chest. "I'll check in with 'Bena when I go home, I promise, but just hold me now and don't worry. I had enough of that all afternoon from the Draytons and Edward to last a lifetime. The only person who was just... there. . .was Kyle. And, Al, he brought up a very important point."

"Before you tell me, is this bad news or good?"

"Bad, I think, if it's true." The nerves had quelled, soothing into the background with each word. It seemed to help when he talked, distracted his mind from it.

"Tell me." Al fell back on his side of the bed, eyes still on Sam's sober face.

"Kyle...and I, think the government may have the Imaging Process already and aren't saying anything. Hell, they have the Accelerator-that was something we couldn't prevent. What if tearing down the Project, and all you've heard is just a smoke screen to keep us from finding out what they're going to do with it? Just because they plowed it under, and gave us all the information we own, doesn't mean they didn't copy everything."

"It's been in the back of my mind, too, kid." A line of worry crossed the brown eyes for a moment, his hand coming up to brush against Sam's face, sliding down to rest on his shoulder. "I don't think they're ready to implement a damned thing, and they can't use the Accelerator without Ziggy. You brought all that stuff home and erased most of the data, putting the majority of it in that head of yours. That's one of the reasons I asked Kyle to stick with you like glue."

"They can't get it from me by force—that's against the law. I have rights, and we own Ziggy. She's ours, and they damn well can't have her. We'll fight them in court, if necessary."

"That's if we can prove they want to use the information, Sam." Al gathered the man in his arms, hearing the growing agitation in his voice. "We'll cross that bridge when we come to it."

The Canadians were more than generous, eager to have the Imaging Process demonstrated in their country. They promised complete cooperation, and would inform every single media organization in the world when the demonstration took place.

"Now, for a venue." Edward leaned over the lunch table, the excitement plainly showing on his face. "I own a place in Edmonton that might do."

"Edmonton, Alberta?" Sam's eyes widened, glancing at Al; no help there. Puffing on that damned cigar. Old habits die hard. "That's the middle of nowhere."

"Not necessarily." Kevin was suspecting something, but couldn't quite voice it. "It's world renowned, especially for it's mall. The biggest one in the world, so large it has a roller coaster—full size, mind you. We went there on one of our rare vacations."

"Too rare," Carol said dryly.

"I own it," Edward said, reddening slightly. "It would be perfect—the size of eight or ten, cannot remember, football fields. I'd be willing that people would flock there to see a full size replica of a rain forest. Once we break ground there, the other venues in the States will come. Also, I made a phone call, and Sony is expressing interest in the Imaging Process for commercial use."

"Been doing a little of that myself," Al replied, slipping the cigar from his mouth. "We've got Hitachi, Sony, and, believe it or not, BASF. I suggest we get something written up and share the damned thing."

"Kevin, you give me feedback on this." Sam locked gazes with the other man, grinning at the surprised look he received. "Neither Al or I want anyone to have exclusive rights to the Imaging Process, or the holography. It should be all or no one. In the long run the profits will be larger, and everyone will benefit."

Startled by seeing the old Sam Beckett peek out, and suddenly show himself with such enthusiasm, Kevin gave his wife a pleased glance. "If Carol is willing, I think that's a great idea, Sam. A little generous, but you're right."

Edward eyed the men skeptically. It wasn't good business sense to share the exclusive technique, something that couldn't be duplicated without losing something in the translation, but realized he was working with a different breed here, people that cared about others and not their pocketbook. "Al is in charge of business matters, but I can assist if you like, so you can concentrate on other aspects of this."

"Now, we can't place all of it on your shoulders." Al wanted nothing more than to give Edward the whole damned thing and work with Sam on the EarthSafe program.

"I have hundreds of people that will do the work for me, Albert. If you feel you can trust me to take the best interests of this process into consideration, then I can have my people make the arrangements. The process can be in general use in less than a year."

Sam gave his friend a nod, leaning back in his chair. Drayton shrugged, Carol's arm coming around, leaning her head on his shoulder. "I guess it's in your hands," Al said, with a touch of relief. "Sam and I have to work on EarthSafe, the whole hands on thing, most of which we can do at home with the computer."

"Then, that's that." Edward looked pleased. "We can all go home now with a clear conscience, that we've done the best we can here. I should have the arrangements for the mall in the next twenty-four hours or so, but don't plan anything for another couple of months, at least." He sighed. "I have a flight out this afternoon-business at home, I'm afraid."

"Nothing bad, I hope," Sam said.

"I must return, Samuel. Just a minor business glitch, they say, but it requires my presence."

"And, we're driving back to Cambridge." Carol glanced at Kevin. "The kids have probably destroyed the place."

"How many now?" Sam asked, cupping his chin in his hands, remembering earlier times, and how Kevin had been so reluctant to have children until the first one came along.

"Four. Two boys, two girls, like always, Sam." Kevin frowned as Sam paled at the revelation. "They've been there for ten years-Revenna is almost in high school."

"I thought... two. Revenna and Mac, but..."

"Sam has some residual memory loss from the Leaps, Kevin, " Al said quickly, covering his friend's confusion. "Nothing he won't eventually recover from."

"Al, I have a question for you." Carol eyed Sam with the faintest bit of fury. "Did this idiot tell you he was going to do what he did, or did he just hop in and go?"

"What would Kev have done?" Al replied smoothly, answering her question with one of his own.

"Sam Beckett, you deserve a real good kick in the butt," she said, rapping his shin with her foot under the table. "Memory loss should be the less of your problems. It could've been a funeral."

"Well, it wasn't, and I'm getting there, so .let's drop it." The look in Al's eyes was shaded by his dark glasses, but Sam knew in his heart that had been utmost on the other man's mind. The older man had said little about his initial Leap since he'd come home. He dreaded when he did.

"We'll have to get going ourselves, Sam." The surprised look that crossed his friend's face spoke volumes, relief, and a touch of excitement. "I made a promise- our plane is waiting at an airfield outside of Dulles." He grinned at Kyle, who had sat silently at the table during their conversation. "You have your tickets for the commercial flight tomorrow. I'll take care of Sam. You did a great job."

"Thank you, sir. I'll see you both, soon. Take care."

They said their goodbyes, picked up their luggage from the hotel, and grabbed a cab to the airfield. The Cessna waited, fueled and ready, spanking white with blue trim. "Who's is this?"

"You bought a bike, I...got this a while ago. Surprised?"

"It's yours?"

"We're going to need it. I've been keeping it with Tony, and he flew her in here from Florida this morning. What do you think of it, Sam? She's state of the art, not too many hours on her." As he spoke, Al slid his hand along the sleek line of the aircraft, smiling to himself. "I've only had her in the air a couple of times, before you leaped. She's all ours, Sam. We're going to need our own plane sometimes. I can keep it stored at Alamogordo, and we can take her out whenever we want. You can even get your pilot's license. I'm still qualified to teach."

"I'll think about that. I remember my first lesson." There was something exactly right seeing Al with a plane, and the change that came over the man, making him seem so much like the young Navy pilot he had once been. "This is great, Al. Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

"She was waiting around for the right moment. I leased her out to Tony's company for a while, which is why we couldn't use the plane to go to Canada that time. Tony had one plane in his fleet for a while, then business picked up. He doesn't need mine anymore, and I'm ready to take it off his hands. Thought I'd pull her out when I retired."

"No more commercial flights," Sam grinned, pleased at the thought.

"Except when we go overseas. She'll make it to Hawaii, and anything domestic, though."

Eager as a kid with a new toy, Al tossed the luggage on board and readied the plane for takeoff. Sam took a seat in the co-pilot's chair, buckling in without encouragement. The now-familiar twinging in his gut that signaled another attack was absent as he watched Al talk to the tower and do a pre- flight check. In minutes, they were airborne, dipping once over D.C. before heading west.

Concentrating on his piloting, Al didn't notice as Sam slid next to him, shoulder to shoulder, watching the view from the pilot's windows. As his sleeve brushed Al's shoulder, the older man turned to smile at his friend. "I'll show you some of the gadgets." Reaching over, Al switched on a small screen. "Full satellite coverage, all the way to Alamogordo, or wherever we go. I can have you work on the programming when you get that spare moment. I could do it, but I think you'll have more fun with it. Sam, she's ours. We share everything from here on out, and that's why you have to learn to fly it. It'll be second nature to you, once you learn."

"I'll dc anything you want, Al. This is really ours; I can hardly believe we own a damned plane."

"I've got money put away, Sam. Didn't need much when you were leaping, and before. Spent most of our time at the Project." He reached over and switched on the autopilot. "Sam, I put the account in both our names, like yours. Right down to names on the checks, the whole nine yards. You've never changed your account over from the years you were gone, and I kind of wondered at that."

"I didn't see the point."

"So, I fixed things up, Sam. I don't want you to take this the wrong way, kid. I'm a lot older than you, almost twenty years. I've been doing some thinking, since that party, and seeing the guys getting older. Maybe, when I go..."

"Stop it." Sam tried to slide his hands from Al's and felt himself held still, forcing his eyes up. "I don't want to talk about this, Al. Not now."

"We have to do it, no matter when. Statistically, I'll probably end up out of this long before you do. I don't like hearing you can't live without me, because, eventually, you'll have to. Like flying this plane. On the leaps, you listened, and didn't ask a question when I practically ordered you to do something. You flew the X-2, and did things you thought you were incapable of. Sam, nothing's impossible, even living past me. Now, that I've gotten that crap out of my system. I'm going to take us home."

"Why are you doing this to me?" The pain in Sam's voice was plain as he stood, wrapping his arms around himself. "Damn you, Al." Tears brimmed and poured down his cheeks. "Don't ever ask me that again." He turned on his heel and went from the front of the aircraft to sit in the back, wiping his eyes as he stared out at nothing. He felt cold and dead, even the thought of losing Al at this point so painful he couldn't put it into words. Lashing out at the other man had not helped one iota. The panic touched a chord in his mid-section, pressing his forehead against the cool Plexiglas of the window, trying his best to wipe the tears away that were burning his eyes.

"Sam?" The sight of the slumped form huddled against the window tore Al's heart to shreds. "I'm sorry. My timing isn't the best. After all you've been through this week, I guess I should've not let all that slip out like it did."

"Who's flying the plane?"

"The autopilot, for a while. I won't have to do anything fancy for an hour or so. Did you hear what I said?"

"Yes, apology accepted. You reminded me of something I don't want to think about. Take your own advice and cross that bridge when we come to it." Sam turned, flashing the other man with a furious look. "Make out your damned will, do what you want, but don't tell me about it. I can't take the thought of that. I'll die with you, in a crash, or something like that, but not apart, Al. Let me do that, and don't force me to think about the unthinkable."

"Sam, sooner or later..."

"Knock it off, or I'm going to take a free fall out of this plane now." Damn it, Sam thought, I'm shaking again. And the fear, palatable as the taste of metal. He pressed his fist against his mouth as he turned back to the window, averting his eyes from the man standing over him.

"It's happening again, isn't it?" Crouching next to Sam, Al gently rubbed the other man's back, feeling the trembles that coursed through every muscle. "God, Sam. I really blew it this time."

"It's not so bad. Distracts me from what you said. Let's drop it, okay?" He shrugged away from Al's hand, curling more into himself. "Go up and front or I will get worse. I'll be up in a minute, so mellow out."

"I'm not leaving you until I know you're okay. You're not looking too good, Sam. "

"You've never seen the beginnings of it. Scares the hell out of me." He tried to grin, succeeding. "Al, I'll be fine. It's not a bad one this time, and if I need you I'll call out."

"Better'n that; I'm taking you up to the front where I can keep an eye on you." It wasn't difficult Co encourage Sam from the seat and up to the co-pilot's position, buckling him in securely before he returned to his seat. "See," he said, trying to break the ominous mood. "Still on course, right on the money."

"Good. Stay right there, Al, and just get us home." Settling in the seat, Sam felt the shivers fade away. Maybe it was just his friend's concern, and the casual way he treated his condition, but he seemed to be able to control the feeling better with him around. "And don't talk about dying. Not again, please."

"You got it, Sam," Al said tightly. He glanced once over at the younger man, feeling downright lousy about laying all that out so suddenly. Well, now it was a closed subject, and they were only an hour or two from home.

Landing in Alamogordo was a breeze, and driving home, making a quick stop at a fast food place for some dinner, made the events of the past three days fade. Sam was just glad to be in familiar territory again, making the worries slip out of his mind. He ate his burgers, gulping down the shake, grinning as Al playfully wiped the vanilla ice cream dripping down Sam's chin as he drove.

"I'd take you to this place every night if I knew you'd eat that much."

"Cheeseburgers." Sam took one last bite, dumping the wrapper in the bag. "Food of the Gods."

"I'll remember that. Here we are." Al pulled into the driveway, and turned off the engine. "You look pooped, Sam. Dead beat."

"I could crash out for a week," the other man commented, stretching as he got out of the car. Traveling always left him stiff and feeling like he had a year's worth of filth covering him. He took his bag from Al's hand, grinning at the look he received. "I'm able to move a lot better."

"I can see that. Stay away from your bike, Sam."

"There's always that." Shaking his head, Sam headed towards the open garage and plopped the bags on the stairs, unlocking the door.

Al went immediately to the bathroom, about ready to burst and Sam flopped on the bed, fully clothed, closing his eyes and nestling down on the familiar mattress.

"I was thinking we could..." Al frowned as he entered the bedroom, wiping his hands with a towel. Sam was sitting up on the bed, holding his pillow in his hands, staring at it as if it were alien to him. "I didn't get a chance to change the sheets, but I can..."

"I don't wear White Shoulders, Al." The green eyes that lifted to meet Al's were stricken, wide with betrayal. "You didn't tell me you and her were doing that on our bed."

Frowning, Al came around to face Sam, dropping the towel on the dresser. "I didn't think it mattered. Nothing happened. I told you..."

"Our home. Here. On our bed, holding that woman and kissing her." Hurling the pillow at Al, Sam practically threw himself from the bed, jumping and falling to the floor with the other man in a grip so tight it would bruise. He slammed Al's head against the throw rug once, then released him, stumbling from the room, hand's pressed over his eyes.

"Sam!" Ignoring the pain inflicted on his dignity and his head, Al stormed after the other man.

Standing braced against the kitchen counter, Sam didn't glance up once as Al entered the area, one hand still covering his eyes.

"Nothing happened, damn it! I've told you that before, and I wish for sweet Christ's sake..."

Hazel eyes flashed at Al in the dim light, hurt plainly showing in them. "In our bed? For some odd reason, Al, the fact that your encounter with her happened in our home somehow didn't come up in the conversation."

"It didn't seem a big deal, and I told you..."

"You told me shit, Al. You told me nothing. Not a damned thing. Now, for all I know, you made love to the Bitch." His voice had raised not an iota, grinding each word out with a grimace.

"Sam, it doesn't make a difference, because we didn't make love. No sex. I wish you'd remember that, damn it! She and I fell on the bed because it seemed the most convenient place, and for fuck's sake, Sam, that was it!"

Sam was looking decidedly unwell, a fine sheen of perspiration on his face. "You didn't tell me it happened here, Al; I feel so dead now, like I've been lied to. Damn it, it hurts, down to my guts."

"That's enough, Sam. The very end." The iciness in Al's voice made Sam look up. "I've cared for you, watched over every second of your rehab, and now I've finally reached the end of my rope. Kid, I love you, with every fiber of my being, don't get that wrong, but I damn well can't sit here and take the pity me shit anymore. I've done everything, Sam, and I can't cope. Not a bit." Sam was gasping over the counter, much to Al's growing annoyance. "Now cut that out, because I'm not Kevin, Carol, or even Edward. I'm a man who knows you better than yourself, and is just on the edge of kicking your butt to kingdom come. Now, stop it Sam, or I'll knock your head off. Stop it!"

Just at Al's words, the front door swung open, the startled and very angry gaze of Verbena's eyes practically drilling through the older man's body. To her uninitiated viewpoint, the psychiatrist could see Sam was practically hyperventilating, clutching the counter before him as if it would save him, and Al, for the most part, screaming to high heaven at the man.

For one moment, Al glanced up at the outraged Verbena. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Checking on Sam, which, obviously, was needed. Damn you, Al!" She ran across the room, grabbing the gasping man's shoulders. "What the hell are you yelling at him for? He's obviously in distress!"

"Bullshit. He needs someone to yell at him, and tell him to knock this crap off. It's...

"He..." Sam clenched himself against the gasping, wanting, demanding the control so he could tear against the fury that was filling him.

"It isn't going to work, Sam." Al let the torrent of words pour from him, ignorant of everything but the red haze of anger that filled him. It was irrational, but dispelling every ounce of pure frustration that was contained in his heart that he hadn't expressed in the last weeks.


	36. Chapter 36

With one fluid movement, Sam turned, flailing at the other man, and succeeding only in falling to the floor in a heap of bones, grasping at and losing the grip he had on Al.

"That's enough." Al scooted back against the wall, freezing the action, those hazel eyes watching him with a mixture of hate and desperate pleading. "I didn't fuck her, Sam. Not on our bed, or anywhere else." Ignoring Verbena's sudden startled look, he continued. "You're pissing me off, past the point where I can soberly tell you what I think, or decide if..."

Tears were flowing down Sam's face, laying face down on the floor, his eyes not leaving Al for a moment. "I'm never going to get better, damn it, not one bit. I hate you. I hate you so much I can't stand the sight of your face right now."

"Hate? I don't hate you, Sam. I can't." Al felt the bottom of his stomach fall out at the other man's words. "I don't understand the damned attacks, I'm so scared I can't think straight, and other than that, I don't think your mind is on an even keel. Not an ounce." His voice shook harder with each word. "One moment, you're fine, completely at ease, and the next a raving... damn it, a child, a person I don't understand."

"Sam?" Verbena knelt down by her friend, settling her arm against his heaving shoulders. "You want to come home with me?"

"Yes." Al's words had sunk in, beating against the panic that filled him, and the anger. "I want out of here, now."

"That's it." Al bit the words off, getting up from the floor. "Leave. Run. Just like you always yell at me about!" He swung around to confront the furious woman standing there, absolutely shaking with rage. "Take him home. Pet him, tell him how sorry you are for him, and let him fall into the goddamn trap. I can't let him do this. Verbena."

"Al," Verbena said, arms encircling Sam, holding the trembling man close. "Damn it, this isn't the time or the place."

"When is it? Have you held him, and told him it was all right? Every goddamn night?" He fell to his knees, grasping and pulling Sam's shoulders so he'd face him. The hazel eyes made his breath catch in his throat, but he kept his tone firm. "Sam, this has got to stop. You have every right in the world to get pissed at me about her, slug the crap out of me and beyond, but damn it, it's over. I thought it was finished between us, a forgotten subject."

"You lied without saying a word, Al." The raw betrayal in Sam's voice made the other man release him in pure frustration. He was still gasping, choking on the bile that filled him, hearing words he'd thought Al would never utter, ripping away the fantasy he'd built around himself the past months. Inside, he was still a frightened man, a child, really, and couldn't admit it.

Verbena looked from one angry face to the other, suddenly shifting her attention from Sam's obvious consternation, to Al's face. It was creased in pain, more than she could fathom. Even during the most desperate leaps, she'd never seen that look on Al's face, or how the fear cut dark hollows under his 'eyes. As much as she was worried Sam relied on the older man too much, she knew Al couldn't live without his friend. In a way, his need for him was more acute, almost as if Sam breathed life into him. "What is going on?" she asked, finally, breaking the heavy silence. "I want to help."

Al pursed his lips for a moment, ignoring the wetness that threatened to spill down his face at the thought of Sam leaving him. "I fucked up," he said briefly. "I made the royal mistake of hurting him, and he can't forgive me for it. Maybe never."

Silence greeted his sobering words, Sam's head falling to the floor, realizing how irrational his words had been, drawn out of him in a moment of anger, propelling Al into his frustration, spewing out every single thing he'd been through. Up to now, Al had been so very under control, handling every new situation and setback with sober thoughtfulness. Once, he'd broken down, after the kidnapping, but since then, supportive, non-argumentative. "I'm sorry I hit you, Al," he said quietly, burying his face in his arms. "So unreasonable."

"Sam, you aren't sorry, and have no reason to be. I can't..." Biting his lip, Al straightened, standing over his friend for a moment, giving 'Bena a quick glance. "I can't blame you, because I brought it on." His shoulders fell, a breath escaping his lips for a moment. "Take Sam home with you, 'Bena. We need another night apart, room to stretch and sober ourselves up. You know better than I do what kind of situation is going on here."

"Maybe it's not so good an idea, Al." Her fingers were soothing Sam's head, long nails just barely smoothing back the strands of red-brown. "You need each other tonight, to talk this out. I can stay, help you to do this together, and keep it healthy. How are you feeling, Sam?"

"Better." He blinked once, smiling a moment as Al brushed his hand against his. "Al, I don't really hate you."

"Hate me. It's real, Sam. Kick the shit out of me, like you used to. Maybe that's why I erupted like I did." Al slid down the wall, propping his arm over one bent knee, gaze on nothing in particular. "You remember, 'Bena. How Sam and I used to fight."

She grinned, rolling dark eyes exaggeratedly. "Maintenance was kept pretty busy those months before you leaped, Sam."

"I don't remember."

"You don't recall the night I put my fist through the wall after I tried to con you into going home? You fought me, every damn time, so obsessed with the Project and not wanting me or anyone to pull you away from that keyboard. Practically tossed me across Control, and all I could do is get the hell out and shove my hand through the nearest solid object. Ended up at the base infirmary, when 'Bena conned me into it, getting my fingers wrapped. Sprung nearly every damned one. I couldn't shout you out of it, that obsession, or put up with your silence. Damned cold, Sam. Up and down, in and out, like a woman on constant PMS."

"Like I am now, or like you say I am." Sam wrenched himself from Verbena's grasp, his expression twisted into a grimace.

"Sam, you haven't dealt with the Leaps, or your guilt over leaving." The psychiatrist gave the other man his space, giving Al one worried glance. "For three years you went through the greatest possible stress that could be put on a human being, with no time for a breath. Then, you return home and things have changed. Your brother is alive, a minor thing, really. Physical disability that is gradually improving, but so slowly. You want, you crave instantaneous recovery because that's what you've grown used to; immediacy."

"That has nothing to do with what was happening tonight." Face as dark as smoke, Sam's head came up, eyes meeting Al's disjointed gaze.

"Do I dare ask?"

"I blew off some steam," Al said, shrugging. "You walked in on the aftermath."

"Blow off some more, then." Verbena got up from the floor, brushing the light dust from her slacks. "Do it. I've watched you two skate around the issues, Al taking little light steps. If I'd known what Al was doing when I came in the door, I wouldn't have interfered. Your panic attacks, that Al called me about..."

"You told her."

"Get that look out of your eyes, Sam. It's beginning to annoy me again. Did I have much of a choice? Edward called, and I called 'Bena. I wanted to know what to do to calm you down, if she wanted you on meds, or whatever. Don't jump my ass about it or I'll pop off again, and it won't be pretty."

"I DON'T NEED A KEEPER, DAMN IT!"

"Sam," 'Bena began. "Now calm..."

"I'm sick of calming down, and taking everything in stride, and I want to be left alone!" A flush of anger appeared on the man's face, his entire body stiffening as fury rose to the surface. "It's you, it's Al, it's Edward, it's all of it. I haven't been left alone in four years, and why can't I have that, when I want it? Why?" Tears started in his wide eyes, pleading for understanding. "As much as I love you, Al, I can't take much more of this. You don't sit and ask me what's wrong anymore, or if you do, it's always prefaced by the fact that you've called an outside party for advice. God you know me, or say you do; why can't you just..."

Unreasonable anger again, clenching Al's gut, making him stride away from the other two people. He leaned against the wall, resting his head on his fist, trying to will away the bitter words and feelings he desperately wanted to blurt out.

"Al has had to deal with you for so long, Sam." Keeping her voice low and even, 'Bena drew the other man's attention away from Al. "One on one, with hardly any outside help. for all those years you were gone. At first, when you returned, he reveled in the feeling of your alive presence here. Now, that he's rode the reality roller coaster for a while, he's reaching for outside help; but only people he knows you both trust. It's been as hard on him as it has on you, in a different way."

"No, it hasn't." Al's quiet voice, half-muffled by his fist, cut through her words. "I haven't done enough. Sam's right."

"No, Al, he isn't. In a way, he's been the selfish one, but he can't help it."

"Thanks," Sam replied bitterly. "That's what I needed to hear. I wasn't the one playing around the moment..."

"Always back to that!" Al turned, raking his fingers through his short hair. "It's like a goddamn crutch for you, keeping that damn little flame alive, giving you a reason to hate me. Why do you need that, Sam? Why?"

In a flash, Sam was on his feet, tears streaming down his face, glancing from one upset face to the other. "I never, stay one place very long. I can't keep people near me. As soon as they become close, then..."

"On the leaps, Sam!" Al suddenly realized what kind of phantoms still haunted his lover. With gentle hands he held the struggling man tight, his fingers painfully gripping Sam's shoulders. "Not now. I'm not leaving, you aren't leaping, and this is real, kid. Real and stable. You don't have to set right any wrongs, not anymore."

"I don't deserve this, any of it." Sam's head fell onto Al's shoulder, allowing his concerned friend to hold him close. "I killed all those people, did things to others, to you, that..." His voice came out in a choked whisper, tensing under Al's soothing hands. "I was controlled and tossed around doing right, but how right was it? What else did I do out there that we aren't even aware of yet?"

"Sometime, Sam, when EarthSafe is established, and we're on the road, we'll look up some of those lives. I mean it, without a doubt. Think about the correlation, and every name. You gave them all second chances."

"Second chances." Sam broke from the warm embrace, backing slowly away from Al. "That leap was for you. It was for you. damn it, and I..."

"Wait a minute. You changed gears again, Sam." Al's eyes turned to dark slits, suddenly suspicious. Verbena watched from the floor, worried. "What leap?"

"I was supposed to save you, Al. Not Tom. I didn't listen to you, or pay attention like I should've. Her blood was on my hands, soaking through my clothes...I smelled it, even after I had long gone..." Tears spilled over his cheeks, his breaths coming up short, gasping for each one. "I brought her on that mission, for my own selfish motives, and Maggie died."

"Maggie? Sam, who..."

"Verbena, mind your business!" Al flashed the woman a look that silenced her. "Maggie Dawson was not your fault, Sam."

"What about Lonnie?" Sam's eyes were suddenly wild, shaking with a sudden chill. "He lived in the other timeline, had children. Didn't he?"

"I don't remember...Sam, it was a while back."

"I just did the correlation." His face was a mask of grief, things thought about but long kept buried deep, where it didn't hurt so much. "He married, had children. It changed after I interfered."

"And you saved the girl, Sam. She's alive, with her husband, a family, in Los Angeles. I remember that much, kid."

"It was a damned balancing act. I traded a life for a life, more than once."

"And saved more than that. Don't forget Tom Stafford, Sam. You saved his whole family, all of them, saved his wife, and that baby. Billie Jean. Samantha. Focus on the positive. I know the dark things will haunt you, for a while, but try, kid, try to remember the things that turned out good. You always focus on the ones that "^didn't turn out too well."

"They're the ones you remember, Al. I know I should do what you say. but sometimes it's hard."

Turning to Verbena, Al gave her an apologetic look. "I'm sorry I snapped your head off like that." He kept his arm around Sam's shaking shoulders as he spoke.

"I'm so damned used to handling things. Maybe this is more your department. He's not listening to me."

"It's fine, Al." She caught Sam's gaze and held it, taking one of his hands. "Darling, we need to talk. Hard. There's a lot to sort out in that head of yours. You used to be the one I went to when I needed a little sanity. You're not going nuts, Sam, if that's any comfort. You've been through extraordinary circumstances, a nonstop chain of helping everyone except yourself. Once we sort the bad things out, and you finally accept them, then you'll recover from it."

Her gaze shifted to Al, who was listening with a tight expression on his face. "And you. Time to talk, like we used to, Al. I'll schedule you for one good venting session, just the two of us, and clear the air of some of the frustration you're feeling. It's okay to get mad at Sam."

"I pick the damnedest times, though."

"And, I don't hate you, Al." Sam shook his head, tears still clinging to his cheeks, but the worst of it dissipating. "This... this angry voice in me was saying if I hated you I wouldn't hurt you later."

"There isn't a damned hurtful bone in your body, Sam Beckett," Al reassured him, patting the man's cheek. A grin appeared on the broad face at the gesture. "I'm pretty persistent, kid. Can't get rid of me, or anyone else, for that matter. Not the people who give a shit about you."

"You told me once," Verbena said, keeping her hand firmly in Sam's. "Once you said that you two reach compromises, and fight in a healthy way. It isn't all cut and dried, but as messy as this one seemed to be, you both managed to keep communicating. No one walked out, or stormed into a locked room. That, in itself, will keep the lines open, and get you both on some kind of road to normalcy."

"It's been fine up till this week." Sam sighed, shifting away to slump on one of the stools. "Why now?"

"Added stress, Sam," Al said, sitting next to him.

"And starting a new Project, with the old one buried and gone. Maybe some of those subconscious memories decided to surface now. Before you were so occupied with old news, and memories, that you didn't think about the Leaps. Now, with a fresh start, on something different, you can put those thoughts into perspective."

"I want to talk it all out," Sam said decidedly. "Nothing's getting done, my mind is so screwed up. I can't concentrate until this is resolved."

"Why don't you two start tonight?" Al hated the thought of Sam going to Verbena for counseling, but could see no other solution. "The sooner the better."

"I'll treat. Coffee out at Denny's on 54."

"Denny's?" Sam made a face.

"I find the best place to start these intense conversations is at Denny's over a cup of coffee and a piece of apple pie. Provides a relaxed atmosphere other than some dumb office. Plus the fact, my place is undergoing renovation. It's either that, or my apartment, and it looks like a tornado ran through it. We could do it here, but I think a neutral environment is for the best, Sam."

"With no Al?"

"Sam-" Verbena flashed the older man an apologetic look. "I want one on one, for now, with both of you. There may be things you are feel free to say without Al being around. I promise you, if there's something said he needs to hear, he'll be told."

"Sam, it's all right. I'll unpack and be here when you get home."

As the door shut behind the reluctant Sam, Al felt himself slump, feeling just a twinge of resentment. Maybe a good talk with Verbena, without his interjections, would do the kid a world of good.


	37. Chapter 37

Chapter 23

Most of the clothes, Al discovered, were in need of laundering. He basically took the two suitcases in the bathroom, opened the laundry closet, and dumped most of the garments in the washing machine. Suits over his arm, he stuffed them in a bag for the dry cleaner, and took the other stuff to its place in the bathroom.

The routine chore kept his mind busy against the worry that still dwelled there. The unreasonable anger was mostly gone, now giving into a shameful feeling that he'd hurt Sam with his words. Maybe 'Bena was right, he thought, that the venting had made it's point, and forced Sam to face up to some real problems he'd buried.

The sound of the front door opening and closing made him stop his work, frowning. Maybe they'd returned home to talk, that they'd changed their minds, or that Sam. . . He ran to the outer room, practically skidding to stop, his face darkening at the man he confronted there.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

"I came to see my brother. Katie said the two of you would return from your trip today, so I came down." Tom Beckett dropped his duffel bag to the floor, standing straight and tall, those gray eyes narrowing at the sight of the other man. "Where is he?"

"Out." It took him five steps to face Tom, wondering why, of all times, this man had to pick now to confront his brother and himself. "You should've called."

"If I had, he would've hung up on me, or told me to stay away. I had to come down, and try to talk some sense into him. I don't want to speak to you."

"You've got no choice right now." Al glared at Tom with a mixture of hate and apprehension. "What kind of sense?"

"I'm not talking to you, Admiral."

"I'm not an Admiral anymore." Jutting his chin up, Al placed his hands on his hips. "You aren't welcome here right now. Maybe later, when..."

"Are you speaking for my brother? As usual?" Tom matched Al glare for glare. "Is that how you seduced him into thinking of becoming your..." He grimaced, unable to even say the word. "He told me about your flings, years ago, all five marriages. Sam's just another... fling. An impulse. I don't know how you did it. My own sister..."

"She approves of it, because she's not a damned bigot. You spent too much time with those assholes in 'Nam." Al swung around, his back stiff, knowing if he stood too close to the man any longer he'd go for his throat.

"I just know my brother."

"Like hell you do."

"Maybe we've been apart for a while, but I know him." The Midwestern twang was rising, even and strong. "You took advantage of a weakness. Sure, when Sam was a kid, he practically ran from girls, and I wondered about him..."

"You sat and speculated whether or not he was gay?" Sarcastic disbelief was thick in Al's voice. "I doubt it. You sit around in your house now, wondering about every excuse you can cook up in that little mind of yours, why Sam could be the way he is now." Al snorted.

"You took him, as ill as he was, manipulated his mind, like every damned officer I knew in 'Nam. It had to be that."

"You ignorant ass." Al felt the anger just at the surface, lurking still from what he'd felt before with Sam. "Do you think for one moment Sam could possibly be that stupid? Manipulate? Me?" Al's dark expression was a mixture of astonishment and disgust. "You'd better talk to your brother about that."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Not a goddamned thing. I hope you're not planning on staying long."

"I'll stay as long as I have to." A look of complete calm came over Tom's face, absolutely relaxing in his confidence. "I'm taking him home with me, this time."

"Not that shit again."

"Try me. He'll see sense this time." He nodded to himself, smoothly confident. His gaze returned to Al. "I'll make him choose, and you know very well what he'll decide."

"I won't force him either way. It's Sam's decision-not yours, not mine."

"It shouldn't matter to you. Once he's out of the picture you'll find someone else. I'm certain of that."

Bullet from a gun, the fist flew, knocking Tom Beckett flat on his back, staring in amazement at the older man. After the blow, something very insane took over in the man's mind, a red haze. In a moment, he and Al were rolling across the floor, the lamp falling against and shattering on the parquet as Al's foot caught one of the table legs. They struggled in each other's grasp, Tom desperately gripping Al's shirt, feeling every muscle bunch on the other man's body as he smashed his fist against the face hovering over him. Tom fell back against the floor hard, his hand coming up to finger the cut lip. He'd gotten his licks in, Al's nose bleeding, his own lower lip puffing from one well placed blow.

"Had enough?" Al asked, breathing hard. "I don't want to fight you."

"I want you out of my brother's life."

"Isn't that my decision?"

Both heads rose, Sam standing over the two combatants. "Tom. I didn't expect you."

"The element of surprise." There was no humor in Tom's voice, giving Al a scathing look as he pushed himself up from the floor. "I had to see it for myself. Damn it, Sam, this isn't you."

"God." Sam pressed his lips together, falling to the couch, holding his head in his hands. "I don't need this."

Wiping away the blood flowing from his nose, Al rose, brushing past Tom to crouch next to Sam. The greenish eyes came up, frowning in concern at the other man. "I'm fine, Sam. We were having a...discussion. Just that. I said a few things, then we sort of..."

"It wasn't all you. Don't make him the good guy, Al. Please." Sam looked up at his brother, pleading with his eyes. "What are you doing to me, Tom? This is my life, my choice. Al is the one I picked to share my life with. If that's all you came down here to talk about, and possibly break the two of us up, it won't work. Not now, or ever."

"Little brother, you have some learning to do." Tom shook his head, eyes closing. "He's a fraud. I had an old Navy buddy check him out. Sold you and your Project out from under so he could have you all to himself." He grinned humorously at the disbelief on Sam's face. "Ask him."

Peeling as if he were swimming upstream and choking on the water, Sam met Al's shaded gaze. "Tell me, Al. All of it."

"I didn't have a choice, Sam. He's twisting it around, a bit, mind you, but...it's partially the truth. I swung a deal with the nozzles." He flashed Tom a bitter look before continuing. "They got nothing from it, except getting me off their back. Quit the Navy as part of the deal. Then, they mowed the Project under. I don't know why they did that, kid."

"What did you give them? Ziggy, what?"

"Not a damned thing. They wanted that, too. Told them to peddle their papers. I gave them distance, like they wanted. Gave up all the stuff I had on them, the things that kept the money coming in, and my commission, to boot. Once I handed in my papers, they allowed you to take the data and run. If I hadn't, you'd be stuck in that place for a good long time, working for them to use the process for their own dirty work. I was sick of the bull, and..."

"I have a new Project now, Tom." Sam sagged back against the couch, feeling every ounce of strength drain from him. "I didn't want to do any more with the old one. I proved my theory, and traveled in time. With Al. Can you understand that, and why I won't leave him now, not for you, or anyone?"

"Not for your family?" Tom studied his brother's face, the tired determination there, that stubborn Beckett look he was all too familiar with. "I can't approve of this, Sam. I can't accept it, the two of you. I thought if I came down here and talked to you, that you'd see my way and come home with me."

"Al is family. Tom. Until you understand that, there's nothing more for me to say to you." Sam pushed himself up from the couch, taking his friend's hand as he rose. "Let's go check out the damage." He glanced back once at the bowed head of his brother, knowing he was waiting for an answer. "I'm not leaving here, Tom. You can go or stay." His chest felt heavy, wishing things were different between them, like it had been in his memories. "There's blankets in the cupboard by the bathroom. I suggest you grab some ice for your lip. You can use the couch." Receiving no answer from Tom, Sam followed Al to the bathroom, closing the door behind him.

"I think it's broken."

"Your nose, or your dignity?" Sam sighed, feeling himself slip into doctor mode as he gently played his fingers over Al's bloodied face. "What made you go at him?"

"You know I did start it, Sam. Ouch." Wincing as the gentle fingers hit a tender place on his nose, Al pulled away. "Just pack the damned thing. It isn't the first time I've broken my nose, and it won't be the last."

"Sit down, and I'll fix you up."

With concerned eyes, holding a tissue over his still bleeding nose, Al could see the fine line of pain in his lover's eyes. The hands that held the cotton box were trembling, but other than that, and the tight line of lips, he seemed very in control. "Did you and 'Bena have a good talk?"

"We sat in the car for twenty minutes and said nothing." Sam shrugged, kneeling by Al and cleaning his face with a warm washcloth. "I'm supposed to see her tomorrow. We might go spelunking, but with Tom here...if he stays..."

"I'll manage, Sam. You need to talk to her, and get all this straightened out. Damn it, I do love you, kid. You have to believe that, and that I'd never want you to do anything you're not willing to do."

"He got to you, didn't he?" Sam grinned slightly, shaking his head. "I hate this. All of it. Why couldn't he leave well enough alone?"

"Because, I guess, Sam, he loves you, too. He thinks of me as some four-flushing bastard, and frankly, I don't blame him. I've never-careful, that's... ouch, Sam." He winced as Sam pressed the sterile cotton into his nose. "I've never been exactly what he figures is stable. I'm eccentric, wear weird clothes, and generally do my best to get on his bad side every time we encounter each other. Even when you were gone we never had a civil conversation. He told me once he couldn't believe that we were friends, that I was some kind of lunatic. Not far off base, there, at least for a while. He says it's me or you, and, damn it, I don't..."

"I'm going to settle this, once and for all." Sam settled back on his haunches a moment, eyebrows lifting at what he'd done to that face. "You look like you went a few rounds, and you'll have a couple of shiners, but other than that, I think you'll live." He straightened, glancing at the closed door. "I'm going to talk to him, Al. With you."

"Maybe you should... "

"This concerns both of us, and shoving one little thing out of his mind. If he chooses not to listen, then, I've lost a brother. I think I'm able to accept that now."

Tom was sitting on the couch, a paper towel with ice held to his mouth, his gaze distant as he glanced up at the men. "I thought you both were going to bed," he said, just a Couch of fury in his words.

"Not yet, not now." Sam's voice was gentle, sitting next to Tom. Al stood at his side, hands shoved in his pockets. "I have something to say, to set this all to rest. You won't like it, but I want to tell you something honestly, about Al and I."

"I know about you two. And I don't accept or like it."

"I didn't know when I came home, that I'd want to be with him." Bending slightly, keeping his brother's eyes on him, Sam tried very hard to keep his voice under control. "He had no idea. I initiated it, and needed him. I came to his bed, and slept with him. That was it, the end. We expect to spend the rest of our lives together, because he's the only one who really means anything to me. The other part of myself, like Jackie is to you."

"And he had nothing to do with this?" The graying head shook slowly from side to side. "I can't believe that, Sam. That you wanted to be with a man, for Christ's sake. If Dad knew..."

"Don't you dare bring him into this, Tom." His voice shook with suppressed fury. "He always told us to love, no matter who, or what, or where. You know that, damn it. Mom-she knew, Tom, and accepted."

"He had Mom wrapped around his little finger. He has a habit of doing that with women, some kind of thing he does."

"Maybe so, but you knew Mom, and what she was. Never one to back down from a fight, and if she didn't like the other person there was complete honesty there. Out the door, and no questions asked. All those years, lost in time, and Al was there for me. I wasn't allowed to tell you or Katie about what I was doing, but Mom said she knew I was okay, because Al was here watching over me. Maybe I've done a few stupid things in my life, and I'm not about to give him up to please you. Brother or no, if I did that I'd die inside."

"So you have this perfect life. No fights, just like Ward and June. You can't expect me to believe that, Sam."

"We had a fight tonight, and... it's working out. We fight, we make up until the next time. It's a growing process, like any relationship. Al's getting used to having me around all the time, and it puts a burden on him. He's a lone wolf, and having me here, now, is..."

"You're no burden, Sam. Never." Al said the words quietly, smiling gently at the upturned face for a moment. "I'm learning to like having someone around me for the first time in my life."

"That's all well and good. Very nice." Tom's head came up, his mouth one thin bitter line. "What about me? And your sister?"

"Katie isn't the issue. She accepts this." Sam wanted to touch the other man, just hold him close like he'd been able to when he was younger. "I don't want to lose you again, Tom." He flashed a look at Al, eyes brimming with tears at the words he'd said. "If you can't accept this, then we won't be seeing each other anymore."

"You don't want that."

"Neither do you."

"Sam, I can't talk to you the way I could before this man came along. It won't be the same again, because of him."

"No, Tom." Sam's felt sadness wash over him for a moment. "Not because of Al. It's you, and your inability to accept this. It's more than just our relationship, it's the fact that I trusted him to be with me during the Leaps, and that special part of my life." He was warmed by Al's hand on his shoulder. "You forget, or neglect to believe me, but you weren't around when I first started Leaping. Not in my reality."

"I believe you, Sam. In that, at least we agree. Magic wasn't the same when he came back. Confused, and not remembering what went on before. We figured it was trauma, and sent him to Saigon for a while until he settled down. Maybe you don't remember me being there, but damn it, I know I was! You couldn't tell me much about what you were working on, and. once you were gone, he kept his mouth shut. Sent the damned cards, called. We kept plugging, begging for an answer, why you didn't call yourself, not buying his excuses."

"And what the hell was I expected to do?" The man behind Sam suddenly tensed.

"Al..."

"Sam, no, don't get into this. I'll say my piece, then shut up." Al kept his hand firmly on Sam's shoulder, meeting Tom's icy gaze. "Sam gave me strict instructions, followed down to the very letter. If we'd breathed a word of what was going on to you and the government nozzles found out, we could find ourselves on the front page of every newspaper in the country. If that had happened, there was chance we'd get shut down, and Sam would die. Don't believe for one second they wouldn't. The bastards didn't give a shit who or what, just Chat the precious 'Thing' was in jeopardy."

"So I can accept that, too." Tom's shrug was uncaring, but his eyes had a peculiar glint in them. "You took care of Sam, and did your best to keep them from shutting down the Project. It all worked out until he came back. You almost let him get killed in the airport," he stated, his voice suddenly rising. "Kidnapped, right from under your nose. How could that happen if you're here to take care of him?"

Al's face reddened, glancing over at Sam for a moment before retreating to the bedroom. Of all the things Tom could toss in his lap that was one incident he'd rather forget.

"You weren't there, Tom." Sam glanced worriedly towards the closing bedroom door. "That was unfair, and uncalled for. The whole point is that I survived it, because he found me. Damn it, Tom, I love him, no matter what, and that's it. You can't change me back."

"Then, I'm leaving." Pushing up from the couch, Tom didn't even give Sam a second glance, heading for the door. Scooping up his duffel, he placed his hand on the doorknob for a moment, shaking his head. "We can't talk like this, not with him hovering around. I'm out of here." With a slam, he pulled the door closed behind him. The sound of the rental car and churning gravel, then the roaring engine fading as Tom drove away.

Wiping a hand across his face, Sam turned to go to Al. It was obvious that there was no recourse, that Tom would not be coming to visit or see him in the near future. Now, he knew that Al needed him, and, after their fight those long hours before Tom had arrived, they needed to just sit and chill out.

Al was in the bathroom, tossing clothes in the dryer, glancing up as Sam entered. "He's gone?"

"There was no reason for him to stay." The adrenalin rush from before .had dissipated into a nervous restlessness. "Can I help you with that?"

"Not on your life. The last time you used the washer we were skidding across the tile for three days. Measure the soap, I told you, but did you listen? Nope, just went ahead and did it two more times. I keep telling you one thing at a time, either the computer or the chores, but never both." Al grinned as Sam slowly shook his head. "Tom'11 come around, Sam. Or he'll leave you alone, for a while anyway."

Dark eyes peered up into the suddenly pensive face. "Forget it, kid. You look wiped."

"You don't look too great yourself. Just set the timer and lets go to bed. I want to talk, and just be with you a while."

"Sam, there's one thing. It's important." Al followed the other man into the bedroom, pulling back the blankets as he spoke. "Get in there," he said, patting the mattress.

"What's important?" Sam smiled at the way Al pulled the blankets up, and the way his hands cupped his face for a moment before he turned off the lights and crawled in next to him.

"Sam, I know how much you care about Tom. It took a lot for you to say what you did to him, and, if anything..." Al flopped back on the pillows, easing into the arm that automatically encircled him. "I'll do my best to be worthy of this. I've screwed up things, and pissed you off, yet you keep taking me back."

"Sometimes I think you do it on purpose. No, don't take offense, because you were right. The thing with Hayley was a gone issue."

"I changed the sheets while you were in there with Tom. I'm sorry about that, all of it. "

"You're tensing up again. Stop it." Sam sighed, easing himself against the warm body next to his. "I'm the one that had a fit." He kissed Al's shoulder, then nestled in closer. "It hurt to see Tom act the way he did, and I was shocked he even bothered facing me after the last time we talked. Now, he's left, and, damn it, a gone issue. If he never calls, or writes me again, I've lost something, a real big part of my life, but you'll fill in the places and be there. I can trust you, Al."


	38. Chapter 38

Chapter 24

The touch of Al's lips on his forehead made Sam's eyes open. He had to grin at the bandaged nose and raccoon-like rings under each brown eye. "You look like you went a few rounds with Kid Cody."

"Very funny."

Sam smoothed his hand over the silky material of the old blue and taupe shirt. "I remember this one on the Leaps, Al. It seems so long ago."

"Yeah, well, it's not one of my favorites, but the first thing I could toss on." Al knew well which Leap Sam was talking about; that fateful time in San Diego, April 1, 1970. "I couldn't sleep, kiddo. Thought I'd run up to the store and get a few things, like I always do after a trip. You just stay here and rest. God knows you need it."

"I wish you'd stay with me." They'd spent most of the evening holding each other, and talking over Tom, themselves, and their future. Nothing was really defined except the fact that they planned on staying together for the rest of their lives, no matter what. "The groceries can wait."

"Until the moment you get hungry." Grinning, Al bent and gave Sam a real kiss, full of promise and love, clinging for just a moment longer before he straightened. "I can help with part of it, but sooner or later you have to really have a meal. When I get home, I'll make you a breakfast you won't forget soon. And, 'Bena's coming over. I'll be back in twenty minutes, tops."

"Bena?" Sam frowned, then his mind cleared. She had mentioned wanting to visit first thing in the morning. "Did she call?"

"At the crack of dawn. I told her about our nocturnal visit, and she said she'd be over by 8:30. Just like that. Guess she figures you need to talk about it, and I assured her it wouldn't hurt."

"Tom is gone. I don't want to talk about him anymore."

"Might be gone, but not out. I don't want you carrying that extra luggage around. Don't argue with me, just get up, take a shower, and I'll be home in a wink." He twirled the car keys around his index finger as he exited the bedroom, whistling to himself.

Once he'd showered, Sam dressed in clean running pants and t-shirt, and padded out to the kitchen. It had been more than Al's stated twenty minutes, which filled him with a tingling worry. If Al was anything, he was punctual, from long years in the military, and if he gave him a precise time, he'd arrive by then, or earlier. Maybe some of the construction on 54 had held him up, the road in perpetual repair, more often than not.

The knock at the door startled him into spilling half his glass of juice over the counter. Hurriedly, he mopped the mess up with a scrap of paper towel, then ran to answer the persistent sound. He hoped it was Al, loaded up with groceries to the point where he couldn't open the door.

"Verbena?"

The disconsolate sound in Sam's tone made the woman frown as she came in. "What a warm welcome. What's wrong?"

"Al went to the store and he's a little overdue."

She tossed her jacket over a chair and gave Sam a warm hug, smiling as it was reciprocated. "He's probably slumming at Mac's, as usual. You know how he gets when the cashier starts talking. Talk, talk, talk. Any moment he'll pull up. Why don't we go sit in the living room and talk until he comes home?"

After fifteen minutes of staring at each other and saying very little, Sam felt something was really wrong. He couldn't explain the irrational way his gut had tightened up, or that niggling worry that persisted. "Look, I know you think it's just this dependency thing, but I have to call him on the cellular. Just indulge me, okay?"

"It's no problem, Sam." This wasn't like the earlier panic attacks; the other man seemed perfectly in control, not in the least bit panicked. She knew well that Al had his moments of neglect, forgetting time when he worked on the Project, sometimes late when Sam had leaped, but never without an excuse. A decent one. that •meant something. In the present circumstances, she thought, watching Sam punch the numbers into the handheld receiver, if the Admiral had given Sam a particular time he'd return, there was no question that he should've been home by then.

"Disconnected." Sam suddenly felt the blood drain from his face. He'd shoved aside the irrational thoughts until now. "I'll call Mac's. Maybe his phone is on the blink." Even though he'd just had the thing serviced, damn it. Closing his eyes, he recalled the number for the grocery, on those rare occasions that they ordered something delivered. Pressing the buttons, he waited for an answer, wetting dry lips as it was picked up on the other end. He asked the question, and felt himself tremble as he thanked the cashier and hung up.

"Sam?" Verbena placed a bracing hand on her friend's arm. He was cold to the touch, and shaking like a leaf. "What did she say?"

"He was there a half an hour ago. The damned place is ten minutes away, or less, if he broke the speed limit, like he usually does." He tossed the phone across the room, letting it slam against the wall with a nearly satisfying smack. "Can we use your car? My Jeep hasn't been picked up yet, and I need to be out there, looking for him. He got his nose broke last night, and maybe he was distracted, just ran off the road and trying to hitch a ride or something."

"His nose...?" From the look on the man's face it was an issue best dropped for now. "No problem, Sam." She'd winced a little at the damage done to the phone, but was pleased in a way that he hadn't gone into another one of those attacks instead. "Let's go."

They were a half mile from the house when they saw the lights of the police and emergency vehicles. 'Bena slowed down to a crawl as they approached the scene, giving Sam one quick, worried glance. Every bit of color drained from his face the moment he saw the flash of red in the ditch to the right, the entire driver's side crushed like flimsy tinfoil.

"Stop." Sam didn't shout, or do anything but automatically got out of Verbena's car the moment she parked it. He ran to the nearest police officer, only to find himself being held back by one strong arm.

"Sir, keep back."

"I know the driver of that car. He was overdue at home, and I need to find out if he's okay." The words spilled from his mouth rapidly, almost pleading with the stern face in front of him.

"Jack?" The officer released his hold on Sam's arm and let him pass, allowing 'Bena to follow when he realized she was with him. "This guy knows the occupant."

Another officer came at the sound of his name, a touch of sympathy in his eyes. "I know you. Dr. Beckett, right?"

"Yes. Admiral Calavicci was in the car." Sam allowed Verbena's supportive arm around him, literally the only thing keeping him in an upright position. "Is he okay?"

"There was one fatality." 'Jack' glanced across the road. "Both occupants were taken to Alamogordo Trauma."

Sam's eyes were drawn across the road, another car lying on its side in the other ditch. "Which one was the fatality?" Sam swallowed against the nausea that filled him.

"I'm sorry. Dr. Beckett. I arrived here after the ambulance took them away. I'll go ask one of the on scene officers for more information."

As the officer moved off to speak to one of his subordinates, Sam eased away from Verbena's embrace and stumbled down the incline to give Al's car a cursory examination, as detached as he could possibly be. Glass crunched underfoot as he approached the side of the wrecked vehicle. It was totaled, no doubt about that. His hand rested on the door, noticing with a frown it'd been forced open, probably to get Al out. The seat was twisted, what remained of the airbag deflated over the steering wheel, blood drenching the fabric.

"Sam, you shouldn't see this." Smoothly, Verbena turned the stunned man from the scene, and guided him gently from the ditch. "The officer said Al was taken to Trauma, in critical condition. He's alive, and he'll make it. The other guy was driving on the wrong side of the road." The hazel eyes met hers, relief mixed with a little fear. "We'll go to the hospital."

Sam didn't wait for Verbena to get out of the car, practically running to the hospital's emergency entrance and hitting the desk, gasping for breath. The nurse at the station gave him a startled look as he leaned over the shelf. "Albert Calavicci, car accident. Where is he?"

"Are you family?" At Sam's nod, she checked a chart she'd been writing on. "He's in ICU, in critical..." She rose as Sam ran down the hall. "They won't let you in there!"

Verbena scooted past the outraged nurse, giving her a frozen smile. "I'm with him," she said quickly, running to catch up with Sam. She managed to grab the back of her friend's shirt and stop him before he barged into the ICU unit. "Slow down, damn it!" His stricken face turned to her, panting, sweat breaking out over his face. "He's alive. I'll call Dr. Swann. He should be on duty about now; he'll do this the right way, and you can go in to see him." With a firm grasp of Sam's forearm, she steered him to a couch and made him sit. "Stay put, or else. I'll get help."

It seemed like forever. Once his turbulent mind had calmed, Sam buried his face in his hands, forcing the fear and trembling to settle down into a more rational mode. Every so often he stole a glance at the 1C unit doors, tempted to shove his way past anyone that would keep him from Al. Damn it, he was needed, and one way or the other, he'd go to him.

"Sam?" The former head of medicine at the Project approached, Verbena at his heels. "I just came on shift. What's going on?"

"Al was in an accident." He kept his tone as light as he could, forcing down the fear he was sure his former physician could sense a mile away. "Can you take me to him?"

"I'll do some checking." He gave Verbena a look that told her instantly to keep an eye on Sam and hurried over to the unit.

The moment the doors closed behind him, Sam accepted 'Bena's embrace, somewhat comforted and relieved by her supportive presence. He buried his face in her shoulder, letting her hand soothe through his hair, gentle, consoling words keeping him from totally losing it.

"You can go in—and observe through the window." Swann returned, looking a touch apologetic as Sam met his gaze. "If you'd get your damned license renewed I could give you free rein, but as is, you are strictly concerned. .. family." The

doctor was well aware that Al had no family, not in the legal sense, and Sam was it, all he had. "I'll have to warn you he's not looking too good right now."

"Tell me." Sam rose from the couch, hands shoved in pockets as they approached the ICU. "All of it."

"Lacerations, possible concussion." Swarm's face was grave, hesitating before they entered the unit. "In an accident of this type, practically head-on, they tell me, he probably has back or neck injuries. They're waiting for his X-Rays on the damage, and hoping for the best. He's got internal damage, mostly to his mid- section; broken ribs, they think, and they've got him on a heart monitor in case the impact damaged his chest."

"Take me to him." Sam's face smoothed into professional lines, allowing doctor mode to click in, something he'd found kept him from emotionalizing on Leaps.

The moment his eyes fell on the still figure on the other side of the window, his resolve almost left him. White knuckled, he gripped the ledge for support, watching the doctors working over his friend. One I.V. was connected to Al's arm, his chest bandaged and connected to the monitor. A tube was in his closed mouth, connected to a respirator.

Swarm's voice was even in his ear, spelling out everything in unemotional terms. "The airbag cushioned him against the worst of the chest trauma, or so the attending physician tells me."

"Sam, are you okay?" Verbena tapped her fingers gently against one tense arm. "Sweetheart?"

"I'm fine." His voice was rough, worry breaking through the professional facade he tried so hard to keep up.

"Dr. Beckett?" Sam's head turned at the woman who approached him. "I'm Dr. Margaret Martin. Could we go to the waiting room and talk?"

With one last look at Al's bruised and lacerated face, Sam allowed himself to be taken with no complaint to the waiting room. It was private, the sounds of the busy reception area cushioned by its soundproof walls.

"Down to brass tacks." Her face was friendly, Sam noted, with relief, unlike others of his profession seemed to be. "Your friend is damned lucky to be alive. I talked to the EMT's that brought him in. The state patrol officer said he was going 85 in a 55 zone. He won't be driving for a while after this. The X-Rays tell the whole story. Crushed ribs over his left side, and a punctured lung. The internal damage will require surgery immediately. Dr. Swann is supervising, and Dr. Mattson will do the surgery. He's excellent."

"I know him by reputation." The thought of Al being operated on made him almost physically ill. The words he wanted to say suddenly choked him, unable to do much of anything but glance at Verbena for help.

"Doctor, Sam is pretty close to Al... Mr. Calavicci." Verbena rested her arm around her friend's shoulders, worried and comforting. "Other than the surgery, will he recover?"

"I think so, with therapy and tic. His head injury is minor, thanks in part to the airbag. That was our main concern, and chest trauma, but he seems to be holding his own in that department."

"He was on a respirator," Sam said flatly. "I saw it, and the heart monitor."

"Only a precaution, at this point. We'll move him to a private room after surgery. You can see him then."

Both turned as the door opened, Verbena entering and sitting next to Sam. Wordlessly, she handed a white hospital bag to him. "Al's things. I took the one with his clothes and. well, tossed it." She shrugged at the sharp look she was given. "They were a mess, Sam. I'm sorry."

"I'll leave you both alone, then." Dr. Martin stood, standing for a moment by the door and smiling quietly at Sam. "You'll be informed the moment he's settled in his room."

"You need food, Sam. I bet you haven't eaten since yesterday." Verbena crouched down in front of him, hands planted on his knees. "Am I right?"

"You are, but I'm not hungry." His stomach felt dull and achy, but other than that, and down and out worry, he could've cared less if he ever ate again. He shook his head, allowing a tiny grin at his concerned friend. "I'll try to eat something."

"Good." As she got up, she knew by her leaving Sam might be allowed the time alone he needed to work out some of his fear. "I'll be back in a minute."

As the door closed, Sam was reminded of almost the same words coming from Al just that morning. Mouth downturned, he opened the bag 'Bena had given him. Wallet; he shoved it in his back pocket, not bothering to open it. All Al kept in it was his license and old military ID. Car keys. And a ring.

He held it between two fingers for a moment, not remembering ever a time that Al had not worn it. It was his Navy ring, one he'd owned for years since he'd graduated from Annapolis. It's fit was large on his own hand, Sam's fingers being just a touch more narrow and slender than Al's. Snuggling it down, it almost fit perfectly, the tears smarting in his eyes for a moment, but not quite spilling over. Settling back on the couch, he turned the gold band around his finger, letting himself settle into a patient, waiting mode.


	39. Chapter 39

He started at the sound of the door opening, smiling gently as Verbena entered with a tray and cups of steaming something.

"They had that herbal tea you like." She fussed over him, and he indulged her, knowing how worried she was about Al, almost as much as he was. "I managed two things I know you love-cheeseburgers and cake. Chocolate. Eat up."

"I didn't know you were a nutritionist," Sam said, with a tease in his voice.

"Very funny." She plunked herself down. licking frosting from her fingers. "I ate on the way. Unlike certain little boys, I had my breakfast before I left the house, thank you very much. Couldn't resist that cake."

"What happened to your perpetual diet?" Sam found himself munching away at the burger, finishing half and setting it aside to start on the huge chunk of cake. "I thought you only ate salad and air."

"That's Al talking. He tossed raw meat at me at the last barbeque, and insisted I was eating hot fudge sundaes on the sly. Always made a comment about the size of my butt. Just because I wouldn't eat one of his lousy..." Her lips trembled for a moment, then she just turned away from Sam, not wanting him to see the tears flowing down her face at the memories. "I'm so sorry, me being the motherly influence...sometimes I just want to break down."

"Go ahead." Sam pulled her close, letting Verbena bury her head on his shoulder and cry. "You told me he was going to be all right, and I'm sure of it." To his ears, his voice was a tad uncertain; not until he saw Al in one piece himself would he be convinced of that. It felt oddly good to switch places with Verbena for a change, and hold her while she cried.

"I can't imagine how you feel. Oh, Sam." She took the Kleenex he offered from the box near the couch, grinning through her tears. "You must feel ten billion times worse than I do. Here I go, bawling all over your shirt when I'm sure you could do without it. "

Snatching another tissue, Sam blotted away the worse of the dampness from his friend's face, smiling into her eyes. "It's nice just having someone to share things with."

"I guess I noticed his ring..." Verbena took Sam's left hand in her own, her eyes falling on the Navy ring on his finger. "Sort of got to me, I guess. You two are the best of each other. What happened last night, Sam?"

A flash of anger still burned over his and Al's unexpected visitor. "When you and I went out, Tom showed up. Broke Al's nose. They mixed it up pretty good. The living room is a mess, still haven't cleaned that up. Apparently," he said, a sarcastic tone creeping into his voice as he leaned back on the couch. "My brother isn't quite as open minded as you are, 'Bena. He knows about Al and I, treats it like some kind of sickness I'll eventually get over. Can't seem to shake the fact that he thinks Al is the cause of it, and isn't convinced by anything I can say to him. Eventually, he left, and I don't think I'll hear from him for a while."

"So much for that fantasy."

"Which one?"

"Oh, I know you, Sam Beckett. Christmas in Indiana, joyful family reunion. It isn't going to happen, not in this reality. Let it be, for Christ's sake. I know how you dig guilt out of everything, but this isn't your fault. Tom has some nasty prejudices to overcome, or he won't. It doesn't matter. You chose your way, and it's the most healthy one."

"I love Al." It was so easy to say that in front of Verbena. "Eventually, Tom will either accept it, or stop calling. I can't exactly say I was expecting this to happen, you know."

"Expecting Tom to behave this way, or to fall in love with the Admiral?"

"Well," he said, grinning. "Both. I almost fell apart this morning when I found out about the accident. Almost. What surprised me was that I stayed together, and didn't lose it. Somehow, I know intuitively that Whoever is still watching out for both of us. Al has some goddamn explaining to do."

"How so?" She grinned at the fury in Sam's words, knowing it was his way of stabilizing the situation.

"Eighty-five miles an hour? That has to end." Arms crossed over his chest, Sam's dark eyebrows drew together in a frown. "He never drives like that with me in the car, only when he's alone. It scares the hell out of me. Then, he has the gall to complain about my bike."

"Don't tell me for one minute that you don't bitch at him to high heaven about his driving. Constantly, and at any given opportunity."

"The problem is, he won't listen. Or, if he is, he forgets. It's rebellion, pure and simple. I might as well change the way he breathes, or his way of walking. Or tear those damn cigars out of his fingers. He smokes rarely, but always has one Of the lousy things in his hands,,," Gut clenching at the memory of that simple gesture that was so like his lover, he silenced against the worry again.

Warm arms encircled his shoulders, pulling him close. Sam basked in the embrace, feeling a little lost, and afraid.

Dr. Martin's smiling face was the most welcome sight Sam thought he'd ever seen. The wait, two hours worth, had been interminable. Worse, it had given Sam's mind free rein to picture every horrific scenario, in loving detail. He couldn't imagine what it would've been like without Verbena's distracting conversation, or just her soothing presence, silent when he needed it.

"He's out of recovery, and being settled in his room."

Sam was on his feet in a moment. "Can I see him?"

"He's pretty sedated, but I there's no reason to keep you away any longer. He asked about you from the moment he came out from under the anesthesia. Downright belligerent, even in his condition."

Every muscle in Al's body ached pleasantly, numbed by the pain medication he was sure was dripping from the I.V. Sleep wanted very much to take him under, but he was determined to stay awake for Sam's visit, even if it took every bit of energy he had left. He could barely remember the accident...like the words to that Jan and Dean song..."the last thing I remember, Doc, I started to swerve..." And that nozzle in the pickup truck... Pretty much everything after that was a blur, except his worry about Sam. And that nobody paid much attention to what he tried to say.

"Al?"

He cracked his eyes open, trying very hard to smile at the worried face above him. "Sam, you look like shit," Al managed, surprised at the way his voice sounded; nasal, rough from the anesthetic and the oxygen tube in his mouth.

"You really have room to talk." The tears were welling up at the sight of Al; his face nearly obscured by the huge wrapping that covered his nose, bruises and abrasions covering nearly every visible area. Without another word, Sam gently brushed his hand against the other man's cheek, smiling as Al reached and steered it to his lips, brushing a soft kiss against his fingers before he released, hand falling to the bed.

"Sorry, kid." A slow shrug, then a wince. "The car's a loss, I guess."

"But you aren't." He kept his hand over Al's free one, trying very hard not to look at the other, the one connected to an I.V. "Dr. Martin is very competent, I think. She'll take good care of you."

"The little blond?" Al grinned at the face Sam made. "She's good, Sam, I'll grant her that, but I still hate hospitals."

The door behind Sam opened. Verbena and Dr. Martin entered. "You look like..." 'Bena began, trying to keep the tremble from her voice. The expression on Sam's spoke volumes; relief, and just a touch of humor.

"Three words, 'Bena." Al pushed himself up, feeling Sam's hand touch his back, bracing. "Take Sam home."

"Now one minute, Al." The gentle face of the younger man was crossed in uncompromising lines. "I'm staying here with you."

"Forget it. You'll drive the nurses and me buggy." The disappointment was plain on the man's face, Al knowing he had to act quickly before the old Beckett stubbornness kicked in. Then, there'd be no moving him. He had to say this, before his strength gave out. whatever they were giving him was making him woozy and ready to crash for hours. "You just sit tight at home, and come back tomorrow. Damn it, Sam, I know you. You'll try to treat me, get in everybody's way, until you alienate the entire staff."

"I'll stay with him, Al." Verbena laid her arm around Sam's shoulders. "You can depend on me."

"I'm outvoted," Sam said, easing Al back on the pillows. "You just rest, and call if you need me. I'll see that you have a phone before I leave."

"Yeah, like I'll be able to use it." Al gave his friend a slitted glare. "I'll see you in the morning, Sam."

It was so difficult to leave Al, almost tearing him apart to break his gentle hold on his hand. "Before then, if you need me. Remember that, Al."

All the man on the bed could manage was a slow nod, and a tiny smile. He could barely see Dr. Martin hovering over him, adjusting his I.V., probably increasing the dose of medication, or... something. And, Sam's frightened face, the fear instantly covered by a quick smile. The doctor and Verbena had moved to the door, 'Bena waiting for Sam after Martin exited.

"I love you," Sam said softly, bending and kissing Al, wishing he could wrap the man in his arms and never let go. "I'll see you soon."

After a stop at Verbena's apartment, and the grocery, they returned to the house, Sam practically falling down from his waning adrenalin rush.

"First things first. I get to play mommy again." Verbena practically hauled the bigger man to his feet. "You get your butt in the shower, put on clean clothes- -something very comfortable, and I'll fix dinner. While you slept in the car, I got some great things at the supermarket." Sam had to grin at the memory, or what he could barely remember of it, feeling so comfortable in her presence that he crashed in the passenger seat from practically the moment they left the hospital. "Homemade Chinese, and don't argue. I'm the greatest cook in the world, or at least in New Mexico."

Before taking a shower, Sam made a quick phone call to Dr. Martin, just to ease his mind. He couldn't fully relax until he knew Al was out of danger. The doctor reassured him that his friend was fine, resting comfortably, and that he'd be ready for visitors in the morning. Other than that, she suggested that he get some rest. He was becoming tired of that line, but didn't let her know it. He was beginning to like the woman, her honesty, and the way she treated him like a fellow professional.

The shower relaxed him further, practically melting him into the tile. Donning his old running pants and a clean t-shirt, he felt just a bit more on the side of human.

"You look better." Verbena glanced up from the stove, grinning. The scent of pork and ginger practically filled the house, tingling and reminding Sam of how hungry he was since his bite of burger and cake. "Once you eat this, you'll be ready for a nice long nap."

"You should get married, and have kids, 'Bena." Sam sat on one of the stools, taking a sip of the icy wine cooler she set before him. Lime Mist. "You've got this real strain of..."

"Before you say one more word, let me remind you of something your Swiss-cheese mind forgets. When I first came to the Project, I was green, wet behind the ears. You took me in like a long lost sister, bud. I don't forget things like that, or the way you coaxed me along, telling me how much faith you had in my skill. At first, it was pretty hard, dealing with what went on, but I learned, and you let me know every damn time I did good. I was kept busy, all the time, and don't think for one second that I didn't know it was you telling the others to come to me to talk. Even Gushie. Boy, once the flood gates opened on his psyche I figured I could write a book on him! Even Al trusted me, because you did. When you left, I found myself trusted by everyone, letting me have the freedom I needed with the people you leaped into. It's your turn to be treated like a kid, and held and cared for. Al put you in my hands, and I'm duty bound. Now, sit there like a good boy and drink your wine. It'll relax you. And don't bother Dr. Martin anymore. I made her promise to call if there's any change. You can trust her, too. She's the one who took Swarm in at the hospital, at your recommendation." She grinned at his surprised look. "No secrets at PQL. You're a damned saint and don't even know it, Sam."

"I'm no saint. Thank you, Bena." His eyes glinted as he took another swallow of the slightly sweet, mellowing wine.

"Your very welcome." She set a plate in front of Sam, crossing her arms over her chest. "Eat up."

Fried pork and vegetables, rice, probably microwaved, but delicious. Sam raised his fork and waited until 'Bena was sitting next to him with her own plate. It was a silly meal, under the circumstances, but temporarily kept the man's mind off of Al. Once they cleaned their plates, Sam took the dishes, stacked them in the sink, and almost fell over the counter.

"All right, Sam. Enough. I'm derelict in my duties." Taking her friend's arm, she steered the reluctant man to the bedroom, tucking him under the sheets, pulling the blankets up to his chin.

"Stay with me, " he said, suddenly not wanting to spend the night alone under any circumstances. "We can watch some TV, talk."

"Great idea. Give me a minute and I'll make some of that disgusting popcorn that you love. There's a Humphrey Bogart marathon on TNT that I was dying to watch. "Key Largo", "Dark Passage", all the goodies."

As she left the room, Sam's mind went back to the first night he'd been home, and Al falling asleep here, watching "Casablanca". It seemed so long ago. Only last night he'd been home, safe, sleeping next to him.

"Sam?" Verbena frowned as she dropped the hot bag next to the bed and crawled over to study the silent man. "Talk to me, pal."

"I can't handle losing him, 'Bena." The face that turned to hers was wet with tears, voice so low she could hardly hear his words. "It was so damned close, and seeing that car, all the blood, I thought I'd lost him. We just started knowing each other, and making our plans for a life together. Do you understand that, 'Bena?" He smiled through his tears as she brushed her hands along his cheeks. "You do, don't you? You always understand, even when I'm not making much sense."

"That happens a lot of the time, but I tolerate it." She stroked her hands through the long hair. "You need to see a good barber."

"Don't tell Al this, but if I did that, he'd kill me." Sam grinned, easing back against the bookcase behind him. "If you promise to keep a secret, I'll tell you one."

"Cross my heart." She opened the bag and handed the steaming popcorn to Sam.

"He likes to wash my hair. If I cut it, he loses half the fun."

"You're kidding." Her eyes widened as Sam shook h-s head. "You're not kidding." Dissolving into uncontrollable giggles, she practically fell off the bed, beating her fists against the spread at the picture Sam's words painted.

"Why do I feel I' m in the middle of a pajama party that is slowly going out of control?"

"You might be right." Taking a deep gulp of air, 'Bena brought her laughter under control. "I guess I shouldn't laugh. Everyone has their little quirks. I just can't imagine the Admiral washing your hair."

"He's pretty good. You should try it sometime. He has this way of bringing me out of any mood I'm in. It's funny that most people don't see that side of him, the part I see every day. He's gentle, treats me like... well, I won't go into it."

"You don't have to, Sam." The fingers of his right hand were turning the ring he wore. "I feel pretty good just knowing you wanted to share that much." She snatched up the remote, turning the volume up on the TV. "Key Largo" is about to start." She leaned over as Sam's arm came around, pulling her close. "It's one of those movies that makes you forget your troubles."

Somewhere between the hurricane and Bogart's shoot-out with Edward G. Robinson Sam fell asleep. When he awoke, it was almost eight a.m.. Verbena gently nudging him awake.

"You really crashed out." She sat on the edge of the mattress as Sam woke and rubbed his eyes, yawning widely. He looked like a little boy. Verbena thought, except for the stubble and messed up mop of hair. "Dr. Martin called and said you could go straight to the hospital to visit Al-but not until after breakfast."

Verbena's idea of breakfast was fresh blueberry muffins, scrambled eggs, and tea. With an appetite that Sam didn't know he had, he finished off the meal, Verbena watching him with a pleased look. "I had no idea you loved muffins. If I'd known that, I'd bring them over every day just so you'd eat. That's another thing entirely. You're still too skinny, Sam."

"You should never tell a man he's skinny, 'Bena," Sam replied, mouth full of muffin. He was gobbling more out of hurry than hunger, wanting to be with Al at the hospital.

"Grab a couple of those things and we'll go to the hospital." Verbena knew Sam wasn't stuffing his face like that without good cause. '"I imagine Al is about as anxious to see your face as you are to see his."

Dusting the crumbs from his chin, Sam got up from the table. "What I should do is check on his car, so he won't have to worry about that. We built it together, before I leaped. There's a few components in it that I'm not sure the general public is ready for. If she's totaled, I'm afraid I'll have to have the car destroyed."

"You can gather your tinker toys and build another," 'Bena said, smiling gently at the sadness that crossed the man's face. "It's not irreplaceable."

"I know. Building it together; it was a special memory. I don't have all of it back yet, but I can remember the first drive we took in it together-all the way to Vegas and back in a day. Al said it was the closest he'd come to flying since he'd been a pilot. He misses being in the sky. I'm glad he bought the plane."

"Plane?"

"It's at the airfield. I have competition," Sam grinned. "He's in love with a plane."

"You're hurt he didn't ask you to stay with him at the hospital."

"I guess so, a little. In a way, I know I'd have told you the same thing, to take him away so he wouldn't have to sit there and watch me in pain. Do you think I'm..." He leaned on the table in front of him, holding his head. "Sometimes I think I hold him too tight, and he'll get scared and leave. God, I'm so paranoid about that."

"You've changed him, Sam. You have. There was nothing concrete in his life before you. Sure, he had relationships, but nothing like this. He loves you, with every bit of his heart, all those years he had no one, he's showering all that deprivation on you. You're a lucky person, Sam, to have someone like that."

"I'm lucky to have him. So damned lucky he didn't die yesterday. I could be going to a funeral today, tomorrow."

"Enough. Let's get a wiggle on. I'm sure Al is bitching to high heaven that you're not there."


	40. Chapter 40

Chapter 25

The two of them were greeted by Dr. Martin, her friendly face creased with a frown. "I need to speak to you, Dr. Beckett," she said, taking his arm and leading him to a chair near Al's room. "It's about the Admiral. For lack of 'a better term. He's been acting in a military way all morning."

"Please call me Sam, and what kind of problems could he be causing?" With a shake of his head, he glanced once at Verbena, who shrugged, before he returned his gaze to the doctor. "He underwent surgery yesterday."

"He's recovered, and pissed to high heaven. Right now, the officer that was on the accident scene is in with him. I can tell you who's in control, as far as that conversation is concerned. There's something about his insurance coverage, or lack of it."

"I'd better get in there and calm him down." Sam stood, waving aside Verbena's move to follow. Knowing well that there was no coverage on the car, because of it's special experimental status, he feared Al might agitate himself into a heart attack, should the investigating officer press him too far.

Al turned the moment the doors swung open, his eyes nearly black with anger. "Sam, good! You tell this nozzle..."

"First of all," the younger man soothed, pressing Al back against the pillows. "You need to relax." Turning to the uniformed officer, Sam sat down on the edge of the mattress. "Give me your story."

"I was just giving the Admiral here the low down." The heavy set man's face was set in grave lines. "He was driving that vehicle with only the barest of insurance coverage. There were circumstances, and the other driver, now deceased, was at fault. All we can figure is that he dozed off at the wheel and T-boned the Admiral's car into the ditch."

"He's giving me a damned ticket," Al snapped, ignoring the strong hand soothing his left arm. "I nearly get killed, and he's got the balls..."

"Officer, what is the ticket for? I know he went over the speed limit..." Giving his friend a meaning look-that wasn't forgotten, not by a long shot-he continued. "Is this a standard procedure?"

"When the driver isn't wearing a seat belt, it is. Sure, you had the airbag, and that saved his life, but no seat belt is a five hundred dollar fine, not to mention the speed limit violation."

Stomach sinking, Al watched Sam's complexion go slowly beet red. Then, chalk white. "Now, Sam, it wasn't..."

"Officer," Sam said, his voice suddenly dead flat. "Give me the ticket. I'll take care of the fine."

"Certainly, Dr. Beckett. Thank you." The man handed Sam a slip of yellow paper with the information printed on it. "This must be paid within thirty days, or we'll have to see you in court." Touching his fingers to the brim of his hat, he made his exit.

Silence ruled the quiet room for a few minutes, Sam neatly folding the paper and slipping it into his wallet. "I'll pay this today," he said quietly. Taking a deep breath and counting ten seemed to quell some of the fury that was coursing through him.

Al noticed the tremble that rippled the muscles under Sam's loose shirt. "You know, kiddo, that airbag is better than damn seatbelts. Did I ever tell you about that time I rolled the 'Vette? Wore a seatbelt and..."

"I don't care about what happened then, Al." Hazel eyes turned to meet Al's expression, face cold sober. "I'm not going to rant and rave about this. You're not sixteen, taking the damned car out for a joyride. My dad gave me one of those lectures, and I bit my tongue all the way through it, feeling like I was five years old. You know better. If that airbag had failed, I'd be making funeral arrangements about now, that is, if I didn't follow you." Sam took his friends' I.V. free hand, stroking the back of it absently. "You get in a car again without using a seatbelt, or drive thirty miles an hour over the limit, I'll kill you myself. Is that understood?"

"Yes." Al kept his tone damned serious, knowing well that Sam wouldn't put up with a joking attitude about now. He suddenly noticed the ring that shone on the third finger of Sam's left hand, his old Navy ring. "What's this?" he asked, stroking against the gold with a fingertip.

"It was in the bag they gave me. I was keeping it safe for you."

Taking the smooth hand, Al touched his lips to the line of gold before releasing. "It looks good there, Sam. Keep it."

"Then, keep your promise to me. I love you, damn it. You're impossible, and enough to drive me nuts, but I don't want you to die before your time, be it with cigars, or that car. We've got a few years left, and I don't want one wasted." Blinking back the tears that threatened, Sam scooped up a stack of paperwork that sat on the edge of the bed. "What's this?"

"Insurance forms. The whole damned lot. Shit, kid, the car is a fucking loss. The other guy is dead, and his family can barely afford to bury him, let alone pay for our little toy. Screw it, I say, and I'll pull the other car out of storage."

Frowning, Sam glanced up from the papers. "What car?"

"My old 'Vette. She's nearly mint; I took damned good care of her."

"Great, another sports car." Sam shook his head slightly, then smiled. "You're impossible."

"Some things never change." Whatever medication they'd given him kept him awake and comfortable, except for the continuous ache that pleasantly throbbed in his gut. "So, how bad off am I?"

"You'll be out in a week, if you're lucky." Anger welled up again, Sam realizing just how fortunate Al was. "I'd consider that a blessing in itself."

"I feel great." At the snort that issued from the other man, Al pushed himself up. "Not great, but enough that I know I'll manage."

"Don't start this, Al. I'll talk to Dr. Martin."

"What the hell does she know?"

"She's your doctor, her and the surgeon. I'll talk to him, as well. Don't get stubborn on me, Al. I've put up with enough from you to last me a while. It's only fair-" he said, turning with a grin, leaning over him. "You did your share with my crap forever." What he really wanted to do, Sam thought, was kiss that sudden smile right off of Al's face, but they didn't know just who would walk through that door at any given time. "Just lay back and take the TLC for a while." Straightening, Sam squeezed Al's hand once, then got up from the bed. "I want you home, too."

"I'll be in this prison forever," Al groaned. "Eating road kill for lunch."

Another door opened in Sam's mind, one of those memories from the Leaps that he'd tried so hard to bury. A nightmare in Florida, 1957. Gasping for breath, he leaned hard on the rail around Al's bed, trying to force back the intense memory.

Eyes widening in alarm, Al tried to sit up, grasping for his alarm button. All the signs of another full fledged panic attack were there, the sudden perspiration that sheened over Sam's face, gulping in every breath. With his thumb, he pressed the button, hoping Verbena and Dr. Martin would arrive before the nurse. "Sit, kid. That's it," Al felt his own heartbeat slow as the younger man took a seat next to the bed. "Hold my hand." He smiled as Sam's fingers wrapped around his, the expression widening as the other man's respiration eased. "Talk to me. What started this?"

Shaking his head, Sam felt his breath cut off the moment he tried to think about it. Every gasp was a wretched sound, choking him, his grip tightening around Al's hand as he tried desperately to center himself.

The sight of Verbena's anxious face and Dr. Martin made Al relax a bit. His own injuries prevented him from offering any more than morale support. "We were talking, just ordinary stuff, damn it." The anger in Al's voice was plain, not at Sam, but at whatever was causing his friend to lose control like he had. "He can't breathe."

Dr. Martin already had the oxygen pulled from the wall, placing the small mask over Sam's nose and mouth, gently coaxing him to breathe normally. "I didn't know about this," she said, giving both men a stem look.

"I'm taking care of Dr. Beckett," 'Bena said, not unkindly, taking charge of her patient, arm going over Sam's trembling shoulders. "Well, we both are. It's not your concern, but I appreciate the support." The cloth of the man's shirt was damp with sweat, her eyes meeting Al's with a certain kinship. "He'll be fine, in time."

"It's not physical," Al said, keeping his hand firmly in Sam's, his eyes not leaving the other man for a moment. "Just give us a few moments, Doc."

Looking apprehensive, the doctor left, her mind alive with professional curiosity about Sam's condition. Beeks seemed competent, and knew her patient better than she did. In any case, she thought, closing the door behind herself, the Admiral was the one she was in charge of, and not Sam Beckett. If she was needed, it was a certainty that she'd be informed.

As soon as the door was closed behind Dr. Martin, Verbena reached over and laid her hand on top of where Sam and Al's fingers were laced". 'Sam, talk to us, please." Other than being red-faced, and gulping air from the mask as if it were water. Sam seemed to be calming down. "What scared you? Was it the officer?"

Removing the mask, Sam reached over and turned the air off, his face very under control. Al was trembling, and looking scared. "I'm sorry this happened here, Al. I need help, so it doesn't happen again. You said a couple of things, not even in the slightest bit aware of when they were said before. I have a nasty selective memory lately, as if I'm starting to collect all the Leaps and deal with them in their way."

"Which one was it, Sam?" Al grimaced as he rolled over onto his side, giving the man every bit of attention he could. "We have no secrets from Verbena anymore."

"I know that. She stayed with me last night, and we talked a little." He accepted the glass of water from the woman, smiling gratefully as he took a swallow. It was cold and helped quell his nerves. "I heard what you said, about the food here, and describing the hospital as a prison. Key phrases," he said carefully, glancing meaningfully at Verbena. "That leap, in Florida, with Boone. Being in that pit all night, and hearing Cooley, when he came later, making threats. You heard it all, and stayed with me, keeping me sane. That was one of those times when I wanted to give it up, and couldn't because the experiment was out of control. Like I am now."

"You're in control, Sam, whether you believe it or not." 'Bena gave him an encouraging smile. "You pulled together quite nicely this time, and managed somehow to talk it out with us."

Al felt himself drift back to that day, his eyes closing. It had seemed an average leap, filled with just as much, maybe a little more, crisis' than usual. Once Sam had been tossed in the Hole, Al had thought that, for a time, the kid could catch his breath, maybe sleep. It hadn't turned out that way. An hour had passed, Observer to Leaper, general conversation about this 'n that, when the Gang Leader, Cooley had showed his ugly face. Crouching over the grill, making threats, some downright perverted. Watching Sam's face, Al hadn't noticed, at the time, how the scientist had handled the words. Beckett had kept his face impassive during Cooley's attempted intimidation. The fortunate outcome was that he hadn't carried through. Once he moved off, Sam had fallen against the wall behind him, eyes closing. "If he comes down here," he'd said, "I'll have to kill him." Those hazel eyes had lifted to meet Al's. "I can't take much more of this, Al."

Something in the older man's intense gaze made Sam pause, wearily brushing his hair through the short, black hair for a moment, soothing his friend. "You stayed with me, every time I was scared, even when I asked you to go and rest. Leaping took as much out of you as it did to me."

"Sam, be assured, "Verbena said, smiling as the man turned to lock with her gaze. "Every time one of these incidents happens, and you talk about what triggered it, the attacks will lessen, eventually disappear. Until then, it'll be hell, but we'll all go through it together. This time, you're not alone, Sam. Not lost, not out of control."

"That helps. Being in control, knowing that I'm not going to leap when I do something right."

Crisis averted, Al felt himself nearly doze off, even with Sam's cool fingers stroking his cheek. His eyes cracked open a fraction, his I.V. free hand reaching up to pat his friend's hand once before giving in completely to sleep.

"He looks years younger when he's out of it." Softly smiling, Sam kept his hand over his friend's face, brushing against the bandage with a feather light touch. "The bruises are fading. Soon, I can take him back home."

"We have to talk, Sam. About everything, every leap that was traumatic to you, and the ones that weren't. Once that's done, you'll deal with things without panicking. Don't keep that steam under the lid, promise?"

"I'll do my best, 'Bena. We should talk to Dr. Martin, explain things and see when I can take Al home."


	41. Chapter 41

Chapter 26

"I pushed the issue," Sam said wearily. He'd spent the past hour speaking candidly to Dr. Martin, and now arguing the point with his reluctant lover. "Five days, at least, and then I can take you home." Verbena's gentle grip on his shoulder eased him into the chair next to the bed.

"I'll live that long," Al finally acquiesced. "You look whipped, kid. Between this and the damned..."

"You're all that matters." The words were said solidly. Giving 'Bena a glance, Sam returned his gaze to Al. "I love you, and want you home, but only when they're certain you'll be okay." The warm hand in his curled against his palm. "You're not doing all that well."

"A sure indication that you both should leave me alone so I can rest." Blinking the sleep from his eyes, Al let himself relax in the recently plumped pillows. No one seemed to do that quite as well as Sam could. "You taking care of him?" he asked, giving Verbena a mock sharp look.

"I'm not letting him cook for himself." She glanced at her watch, then sternly at her charge. "It's nearly four and we should get home so I can make dinner. He hasn't eaten since breakfast."

"I had a Payday," Sam said quickly. "And some of Al's lunch."

"You ate my chocolate pudding." Al made a face. "It had a skin on it."

"That's the best part." Smiling at the memory, Sam realized he was hungry, stomach grumbling softly, the works. "I don't want to leave you, Al. Maybe I should stay the night."

"Damn it, Sam. I won't go over that again. Nope, home you'll go, and Verbena with you, if it isn't an imposition."

"You have to be kidding." 'Bena wrapped her arms around Sam and gave him a quick hug. "I'm still setting up my practice, and Sam is my only patient. Maybe I'm bending ethics a little, that bit about not getting too personally involved, but Sam, you're family, like my brother. Of course, I'll stay with him until you're home, and love every minute of it. And," she added, with a scampish smile. "He needs my car. I won't let him drive the bike, either."

"I could go get the Jeep, I guess." Sam tilted his head back to meet the brown gaze over his shoulder.

"Not on your life, buddy." She gave him another squeeze before completely releasing him. "Nope, I'm your guardian angel, at least until the Admiral here is out of the hospital. You need company, now, more than ever. I'm it, sweetheart, and I'll love every moment I can spend with you."

The drive home took them through a suburban area before heading out to the highway. The smell of bright sulfur was in the air, and a haze of thick smoke hung over the street. Sam frowned, wondering if there was a horrible fire nearby, or some other calamity.

"Damn the Fourth of July." Keeping her eyes firmly on the road. Verbena's mouth tightened. "Damn the fireworks, and the reservation the idiots get them from. I hate it all. The noise, the ambulance sirens when some poor kid gets an eye blown out, or a finger. Happens every year, just watch the news." She smoothly maneuvered a comer, passing one flat house after another, terra cotta and blue being the prominent colors. "It all stinks."

Every time Sam heard a burst of fireworks, he flinched from the noise. As they passed a group of teenagers at one corner, just before taking the main road home, a handful of noise was tossed in front of the car, the kids running and squealing their way into the surrounding landscape.

Brakes practically smoking, 'Bena slammed the car to a stop, hitting the horn once before changing gears and moving on. It was part of the holiday, the birth of the country and all, but she'd very much like to see those kids never celebrate another one again. "Damn little..." She glanced once over at her passenger, almost gasping at the sight that met her gaze.

Peeling overwhelmed by the sound, and the images it had conjured up, Sam crumpled in the seat, his face ashen. Fingers trembling, he choked back the hysteric gasping, centering and calming himself. "Keep driving," he said quickly, as the car decelerated. He could easily tell that 'Bena was worried by his pallor, and had intuitively picked up on his newest attack. "Just get me home."

It was enough to just spend the next twenty minutes in total silence, 'Bena managing to drive home without incident, glancing every minute or so at Sam. Whatever memory the firecrackers had dredged up had been a doozy, something more than talking about would clear.

Gently shrugging off Verbena's arm, Sam walked into the house under his own power, falling onto the bed. In a moment, he felt the woman's comforting hand on his back, swirling and brushing against his damp shirt. Sighing, he buried his face into the pillows, giving into the images the noise had brought to the forefront. Vietnam, and killing all those men. The enemy, changing history with every bullet launched from his machine gun. They'd had families, maybe children, and he'd killed every one of them, and turned away, anxious to find his brother and keep him from being killed. At the sacrifice of their lives. And Al's. That part still hurt, that he'd let the real picture slip away, and Al being MIA for so long.

"Okay, Sam. I'm listening."

"It's Vietnam, 'Bena. I killed there, too." He was past the point of crying, or grieving, just pain filled and hurting. "Maybe that's why I haven't renewed my license to practice medicine. I can't. Not allowed, after you've killed. It's the ethics. And I killed. When I heard the firecrackers, it all came back. like a movie I couldn't turn off in my head."

"You have post traumatic stress, Sam. Like a veteran of a war, only deeper in some ways, because it's not all violence centered. Love, you'll make it, like all those others do. In some ways you'll do better, because you have people who don't chastise you for it, like the Vietnam vets sometimes do. You can tell Al and I all about how you felt, and their faces...because it doesn't matter. Maybe it was meant to be, maybe not, but I've never known you to do anything that wasn't out of necessity, Sam. Not even getting into that Accelerator. You had to do that, too."

"They were surprised, Verbena. And scared. Then, dead." He took an enormous gulp of air, then continued. "It feels better to talk about it then to keep it all in, but...it still isn't right. No matter how you look at it, it's not right."

"You need some dinner, Sam. And a shower." Laying one hand in the warm mass of hair, she tangled her fingers in it before brushing the sweat damp face. "It doesn't matter to Al, or I, and no one else need know about it. You'll find the things that happened will settle in your mind, put into their proper places, and rest there. It's a hard thing to live with, but you'll live. hon. Believe me. Once the files are cleared out up there, we can alphabetize according to priority of grief and work on shredding the rest." She grinned at the smile that crossed Sam's face. "I took a lot of secretarial stuff in high school, just in case the real gig didn't work out."

"It's the Fourth," Sam said, easing over in the bed, eyes meeting 'Bena's. "We have steaks in the freezer. Let's have a cookout."

"No, thank you. I'll make the steaks, but I'm keeping away from the Admiral's prize out there. If I lay one finger on it, he'll have my butt. Neither of us need that kind of grief, do we?"

Once dinner had been cleared up, dishes done, Sam went to the garage to work on the motorcycle. Some of the disability features could be removed, and it needed some work to get out the kicks. Also, it was a distraction, like Ziggy, a way he could get his mind on something besides his friend in the hospital. Grease covered, from toes to t- shirt, he dived into the work.

'Bena kept busy in the living room, going over the plans for her new house that she kept in her brief case. A recent inheritance and frugally saving income from the Project was making this particular dream possible. She placed her bare feet up on the coffee table, feeling comfortable knowing Sam was out in the garage, busily puttering with that motorcycle.

"'Bena, would you please come out here for a moment?"

"What's up?" She almost slammed into the computer set-up in the narrow hallway as she answered Sam's call. "I don't know diddly about bikes. Cars, yes, monstrosities, no."

"I just got a brainstorm."

"Maybe it's the grease." She scanned her friend from head to toe, smiling at the distraction in those hazel eyes, gaze riveted on the rafters above him.

"Maybe while Al's in the hospital we can do some rearranging, if you feel up to it." He grinned, gaze coming down to meeting the woman's. "That big screen TV-we can set it up in the living room, and clean out Al's room and move the computer into there, make it into an office."

"Sounds like fun," she said skeptically, then grinned. "What do you think your Admiral will think of all this?"

"Well, he'll love it, if it's done before he comes home. We need another TV besides the one in my room, and this one is just being wasted. Look at that, all in the packing and everything. It's never been used. We bought it on impulse, just before I leaped, and here it sits. Maybe Al didn't have time to do anything about it. I don't know."

"Okay, so, great mind of mine, how are we going to get that thing from point A to point B?"

"That's a trick in itself. I'll use the ladder, and kind of hand it down to you, and..."

"I'm calling Greg. He should be home. I'm no weight lifter, Sam, and you still have a little trouble handling stuff like that. Now, don't argue," she said quickly, seeing the fight in his eyes. "It's going to take the three of us to do this right, and I'm not wading through another mess like the last time."

"The last time?"

"Well, I remember when the two of you moved into this place-and your damned waterbed. You insisted on setting that up yourself, and then we had Lake Beckett in your bedroom. Brilliant man, two hundred I.Q. or whatever, but when it comes to hands on work, you're a..."

"I hold my own, thank you. No problem, but if you want to call Greg on a holiday and bother him, that's your business."

Fortunately, Greg wasn't busy, and welcomed the distraction. Soon, the three were busy grappling with the huge boxes, unpacking the TV and moving shelves in the living room to make way for it on the far wall where Sam's stereo equipment was set. Connecting the satellite dish was high comedy, Sam managing to make it to the roof. Only to slide down twice before he managed to get a good grip on the red tiles and climb to the equipment.

"I used to toss a Frisbee across a field, through a target, and backwards," Greg bragged, tossing the coax extension to Sam, who missed it easily. "Of course, the target wasn't moving, or a bad catch."

"Very funny," Sam glowered. The sound of the phone ringing startled him, making him slide halfway down before he managed to grab a handhold.

"I'll get it," 'Bena sang out, watching the whole thing from the window. Where it was safe.

On the second toss, Sam managed to barely catch the coax and screw it into the outlet. Cursing under his breath, he slid down the roof to the ladder, sweating from the exertion. The sun was just beginning to set and all he wanted now was to shower and drink a cold beer.

"Who was on the phone?" he asked as Greg and he entered the house. The air conditioning was wonderful on his damp skin. "Was it Al?"

"Nope. Just some reporter. Said his name was Weeks. I told him you were busy, and I refused to give him Al's number at the hospital. Seemed he tried there first, and then used your number." She made a disgusted noise, just as the phone rang again. "Asshole."

"I'll answer it," Sam said, sighing. It was either Weeks or Al, and he hoped it was the latter. "Hello?"

"You sound so glad to hear me."

"I'm glad it's you." Sitting down on a chair that 'Bena dragged over, he smiled into the receiver. "I was up on the roof. We took that big TV in the garage and set it up."

"You and Verbena?" He sounded astonished.

"And Greg. 'Bena gave us moral support."

"Tell that to my back," the woman said quickly, making sure the Admiral could hear every word.

"Well, it seems I don't have to worry about you, kid."

"I miss you," Sam said, grinning at the two who quickly moved off into the other room to give him privacy. "I wish you'd let me come and be with you tonight."

"Sounds like you've got your hands full there, Sam. They took me off most of the meds, so I won't be dozing off on you like I did today. I hate the damn things, the way they mask the pain. If it's hurting, it's telling you something."

"Like don't drive like a maniac again."

"Okay, okay, Sam. Don't harp. You sound like Maxine. I didn't call you for a lecture. There's a key in my old dresser, top drawer. It has this little orange tag on it and an address. That's where my old car is stored. I said she was sort of mint, but needs some body work. So I lied. Maybe, if you've got time, you can get her hauled out and in shape, drive her around a little and work the sitting around out of it. "

"The '55 Corvette?" Sam didn't quite believe when Al had told him that earlier, or it hadn't registered.

"Yup." Sam could hear the strain in the words Al was speaking, the sound of him moving into a more comfortable position. "She's a stick, Sam. so you might have a little trouble. Might want to have Greg help you with that. He can..."

"No problem, Al. Are you okay?"

"I'm off the pain meds, I told you. Damn it, Sam, I'll be fine the second I can break out of this joint. You know what I had for dinner? Liver." Sam shuddered in sympathy, but couldn't help but grin. "Slimy, disgusting, and greasy. I thought I was supposed to be on a diet off of that stuff. Didn't have any bacon on it. Gross, and disgusting, although I bet you'd like that. Smelled like the worst kind of car exhaust. Maybe tomorrow you can smuggle me in some real food, huh?"

"Well, I'll see about that." Sam glanced over at the other two in the living

room, playing with the new toy. "I'll be there first thing in the morning. It won't be the same without you here tonight, though." His voice was as low as a breath. "Wait till I get you home, lover."

"Sam! I'm a sick old man."

"Sick, maybe, in the head. I'll treat you like fine crystal, and kiss every damned breath from your body."

"Mouth to mouth. I can't wait for that." A sigh. "Kid, I'm hanging up, because I can't do anything here to alleviate a certain condition, should it, uh, arise. Put 'Bena on the phone. Night, Sam."

"You get some rest, then." Reluctantly, the man handed the wireless phone to Verbena, after he gestured her over. Al probably wanted to check up on his condition, using 'Bena as a spy. It didn't bother him, not much.

Once 'Bena was off the phone, she set the receiver down, shaking her head. Telling Al of the reporter had the expected result. Anger, and ordering her to monitor all phone calls, no matter what. Weeks was an ass, and not to be trusted. She made a quick call to the private security company Al had hired to watch the house, informing them of the almost-situation, and turning in mid-hang up to face Sam's accusing gaze.

"It's Weeks, isn't it?" Instead of angry, Sam felt resignation to his fate. "I should've expected this. With Al in the hospital, he wants to get to me, and I'm almost tempted to give him the works and send him packing. Unfortunately, I can't do that. Al would have my butt in a sling, and the Pentagon would have a total hissy fit."

"I'll keep close. If he comes in this house, I'll fight him out with a broom. You just stay out of sight, and..."

"I'm not hiding from him, and I can do my fair share of broom swinging, if the need be. Or fist swinging. He's hateful, nasty, and without the slightest bit of integrity. If he goes near Al in the hospital, I hate to think of what will happen to him. Hurt or not, Al will knock his block off." He turned, heading towards the bathroom. "And I won't blame him a bit."

"Well, the security company said they can tell their patrol to keep an eye out for him, but no additional units. Seems they have budget problems, like we used to."

"Fine with me. I'm sick of it. I've told Al, and I'll tell you both." He leaned against the bedroom doorway, taking both friends in his gaze. "I'm not fragile, or in need of protection. Whatever comes, comes, and I'll handle it. Now, I'm taking a shower, and we'll all go swimming. Greg, you're welcome to the bathroom once I'm done. Let's just forget all of this tonight and have some fun. Another pajama party."

"Pajama party?" Greg winced, glancing at Verbena's amused expression.

"Aw, it's fun." She gave him a playful nudge. "Give it a try."

At two a.m. Greg begged off spending what was left of the evening, and 'Bena made sure the doors were firmly locked behind him as he left. Throughout the evening, the marathon Monopoly game, and everything else, she kept her ears and eyes open, noting that Sam did the same.

"You're worried, Sam." She sat down next to her friend on the couch, seeing the disgruntled look that crossed his face. "The worst that can happen is he'll try to break in, and he can't do that. Can he?"

"He won't. At least that. I could be working outside, or going downtown, and he'll show up. I'm resigning myself to that. If he's trying to reach me by phone, it's only a matter of time. The others, they went away after the Project closed down, but that one—it's like Jack McGee on the "Incredible Hulk". I don't think he'll quit until he's sure I've given him the facts."

"I don't know the man, and I hate his guts."

"I don't hate him; he's doing his job. He wouldn't be where he is now if he wasn't. And, I'll do mine, just keep my mouth shut and not let him get under my skin. He's got a way of doing that, Al tells me. After we banned him from the news conference, he sent a few nasty notes to Weitzman. He probably knows we're working with Edward, and wants the low down on that. Edward wants to keep EarthSafe under wraps for the time being, until we're more established and ready to demonstrate the Imaging Technique. I'll breathe easier once that's over."

"You dressed for bed an hour ago, and I think you should be going soon. It's very late."

"Yes, mommy," he said, not rudely. "I want to call Al. He's awake, I know. Just a feeling. And I miss him."

"Go ahead. I'll go take a shower and all that, so you two can talk."


	42. Chapter 42

Without the meds, Al found he couldn't sleep. He'd reached the point that he almost given in when the phone rang. At this hour it could only be one person.

"You should be asleep, kid." The dark walls around him reflected the dim light from the blinds. "'Bena's being derelict in her duty."

"It's not her fault. We finished setting the TV up and played Monopoly. I lost—badly." There was a pause, Al sensing something was up with his friend. The sound of his voice was enough to make him want to grab his clothes and somehow get home to him. "I wanted to hear you before I went to bed."

"What's up, Sam?" Al could hear the catch in the other man's voice. "You sound upset, and lonely. I know you are, but I'll be home soon. Did something happen today, besides that nozzle calling?"

"I remembered 'Nam, Al. Some of it, not all, just when I shot some people. It wasn't as bad as before, and I could control it, by just the barest, but I did. 'Bena helped."

"I should've been with you." A long, dead silence. He wondered for a moment if Sam was angry with him. or just at a loss for words. "Sam?"

"Al, I'll be there, first thing tomorrow. We'll get your car out of the place;

I'll call first." Silly, Sam thought, not wanting to hang the phone up, to keep his friend here with him. "You want me to bring you a book or something? I can handle that, and maybe even my old laptop. They..."

"Slow down, kiddo." Instinctively, Al felt the strain in his friends' words, covering how much he was missed. "I just want you. That's all. It's impossible to be here all the time, and I know you're feeling that, and wanting to hover over me, but the doctors say no. I asked. Martin said it's just not standard practice. She's nothing like a hard-liner, just thinking about what's best. And, God, I really miss you, too." His hands gripped the receiver tightly, listening to the silence on the other end. "There, I said it. Feel better?"

"No, I feel like shit." Sam tried hard to swallow back the tears that had began to flow down his cheeks. "Just don't give them any reason to hold you longer than they have to. Please. I hate this bed without you in it with me, Al."

"Nothing says you have to sleep alone, Sam." An idea was forming in Al's head, something that might help both of them to get over this hurdle of distance. "Get under the blankets."

"What?"

"Just curl up like you do, but keep the damned phone by your ear. We'll talk until we fall asleep. Sound good?"

"You've got to be kidding." Sam did as ordered, smiling softly, keeping the receiver close to his left ear. Thank whatever it was wireless. "Okay, I'm in bed."

"Now just let me talk, and you listen, okay?" Al felt himself relax, keeping his own phone close, with the sound of Sam breathing softly just near his ear. "I'm going to tell you about the time Stacker and I went across country, from Pensacola to Oklahoma..."

"Not one of those stories, Al!"

"It's the only kind of bedtime stories I know Sam, so shut up and listen. Anyway, we made this one stop, near an airfield and I tell Stacks..."

When Verbena finished with her shower, she went into Sam's room to check on status. The man was curled around the phone, almost asleep, the weary sound of Al's voice just barely coming over the speaker. Without disturbing the men's conversation, she simply shut off the light and went to bed.

Hospital breakfast, Al decided, must be made to motivate the patient to get the hell out as soon as possible. The emphasis was on whole grains, juice, and no coffee. Dr. Martin had stated as much, making sure he was perfectly aware that caffeine was on his no-no list for the duration. The cereal was soggy and disgusting, and the juice had seeds in it. Grapefruit, at that. He hoped they'd let him order from the menu, as promised, soon.

"You received a package, Admiral." The little nurse that waited on him hand and foot every morning beamed as usual, that pixy face beneath the short blond hair ingratiating to a degree that would probably annoy Sam no end. "It's marked specifically for you, and security said it was just fine." She set the fat manila envelope on the edge of the bed within easy reach and took his tray, scowling for a moment at the mostly untouched breakfast. "You should've eaten more, Admiral."

"First of all, it's Al, okay? Not Admiral-I'm retired." He didn't say the words unkindly, giving her his best resigned grin. "Secondly, it's slop. Pure and simple. I don't have an appetite for it. It looks like gray mung and not good quality mung at that."

"I'll see what I can do—maybe you'd like some toast?"

"That sounds good, and some coffee?" He added the latter hopefully, wondering if she might forget and give him the real stuff.

"I'll see to it." She grinned. "You'll have to manage with some juice, though. I can see this wasn't exactly great. I know about your diet...Al."

Once the nurse had made her exit, he picked up the package, wincing at the effort it took just to pull the envelope across his lap and in front of him. His left side still ached mercilessly, every movement reminding him of the surgery they'd performed and his strapped ribs. It wasn't the morning paper, he decided. opening the thing, but it would have to do for now.

It was some kind of manuscript, Al thought, frowning as he slid the bound stack of papers from the envelope. Pretty hefty stuff, and weighed a ton. Or at least, several pounds. His eyes widened at the title page; "My Wicked, Wicked Waves", the authorized biography of Admiral Albert Calavicci." Very fucking funny, he thought, his gaze falling on the author's name. Denise Sheridan. That wench. He hadn't seen or heard from her for years, not since just before and right after Sam had been Leaping. Authorized, eh? A note was enclosed, one of those post-it things, to the cover page.

"Dear Al," she'd wrote. "Thank you for the brief but eye-opening interview. The book is going to press in six months, and this is the galley you requested. I assure you that every source is concrete and completely at your disposal should you or your attorneys wish to question the validity of my book. I can be reached at the old address, or at the one listed under the title page of this manuscript. Thanks again! Denise. P.S.—The title can always be changed. Oh, and before I forget, Turner Broadcasting already purchased the rights to the TV-Movie-isn't that exciting?"

"Nauseating," Al said aloud, feeling himself turn green. He hadn't been exactly sober when he'd been interviewed by the woman and could only guess on what he'd said or did during the time they'd had together. Page by page, he leafed through the manuscript, feeling his gut drop lower and lower with each passing page. Skimming through the worst of it-she was worse than Kitty Kelley, that tattler that Tina always read with such relish. Tina. And, as he discovered, Chapter Six was pretty much soft porn, his early Navy days, and nearly the rest, he realized was emblazoned with anecdotes from each and every ex-wife, with, thankfully, nary a word from Beth.

He brushed off the offer of the second breakfast, completely ignoring the hurt look that crossed his nurses face as she took it away. Weeks had something to do with this thing and its timely arrival, Al just knew it! Every chapter towards the end grew more and more graphic, making him sound worse than Don Juan. None of his ex's had been very kind, except maybe Maxie, but she always had this soft spot for him, even when they had a second hearing for more alimony.

When he finally reached the last chapter, he closed his eyes against the words on the page, then shoved the entire thing to the floor, most of it landing with a solid thwack, the rest of the pages slowly fluttering down as if trying it's best to catch up with the rest of it.

"I take it that's bad news?" Dr. Martin made a timely entrance, looking askance at the fallen pages. The dark eyes glittered a moment with furious anger, but no comment from the tightly pressed together lips. "We got back some of your results. You must stay in terrific shape, Admiral, extraordinary." That got the older man's attention. "I might let you out of this place in three days, providing you take it easy."

"Can I leave now?" Al's eyes didn't move to her, just that steady gaze at the wall in front of him. "Today?"

"I want to do some tests, and speak to Dr. Beckett. And Dr. Swann. Your recovery is nothing short of extraordinary."

"So I have amazing recuperative powers. And I want the hell out of here."

"You have a ways to go, Admiral. I'd suggest you keep yourself in bed, and I'll let you know when you can leave." She eyed the mess that was scattered on the floor. "Dr. Beckett should be here at any moment. I'm still not sure what his status is, but I'd like to know. Dr. Swann is as tight-lipped about his condition as you and he are. It's not my place."

"Exactly." Dark eyes stared at the doctor for a moment, then shifted to the papers that he'd scattered. He closed his senses to her, forcing himself to concentrate on other matters, the things that really mattered, like the last chapter of that damned book. Snatching up the phone, he hardly noticed Martin leaving, wanting nothing more than to call his lawyer and find out what he could do to prevent the thing from hitting the stands.

The look Dr. Martin gave Sam and Verbena wasn't exactly cordial. She gave them one good glare before brushing past them to enter the elevator they'd just vacated.

"Something's up." Sam had awakened in a great mood, anxious to see his friend, barely gulping down something substantial before running from the house. "You go talk to her and I'll go see Al," he suggested. "Maybe she knows when he can go home."

"From the look on her face I can tell she wants him out of here soon." Rolling her eyes, 'Bena punched the button for the elevator. "Thanks big brave man."

"I'll have my turn with her, just wait and see." Giving her a quick kiss, he grinned. "Just play buffer this one time."

"One time. I've got a feeling this is becoming a habit."

"Sit down, Sam."

That wasn't exactly the greeting the younger man had been expecting. After the warmth of the night before, he'd thought Al would've been a whole lot more receptive. Taking the seat by the bed, Sam mutely accepted the haphazard pile of papers his friend handed him. "What's this?"

"Okay. Mr. Speed Reader. It came this morning." Al kept up a steady monologue as Sam obeyed orders, glancing quickly through the sheets. "I called my lawyer and he gave the same old same old. You signed the waiver, you made the decision without my presence, you face the consequences now. God, kid we've got another project coming up, and the publicity that entails..." Impatiently, he snatched at the manuscript, pulling nearly three quarters of it away. "Cut to the chase, that last goddamned chapter."

Al watched every nuance of expression that crossed Sam's face, from studious concentration, to amusement, to outright hysteria. Laughter bubbled to his lips, building with each page he turned. Bristling, Al shoved himself off the bed, sitting on the edge of the mattress to stare .at his friend in disbelief. "What the hell is so funny?"

"This. All of it." Pausing a moment to wipe the tears from his eyes, Sam gasped for a breath. "So, what's the big deal, Al?"

"My Christ, she's telling the whole world we're some kind of flaming..."

"She made it perfectly clear, I thought, that we were having a relationship. Tina's comments were just toned down a bit, but I can imagine what she really told her. It was bound to come out, one way or the other, and it shouldn't matter much. Not if you love me."

"That's not the issue, damn it! Love, the whole thing, we're exposed as a gay couple. With all the fanatical elements out there, and the aids scare, this is going to damage EarthSafe, maybe run the whole thing into the ground."

"I think you're putting too much into this, Al." Sighing, Sam leaned back in the chair, pinching his nose between two fingers. "Call Edward, see what he says."

"Call Edward, he says. Very funny."

"I'm perfectly serious. He's not as strait-laced as you seem to think. At least, I don't think so. Cripes, Al, call the man. If anyone will know what kind of reception we'll receive, he's the one."

"Great. I'll call Edward and say, oh, and by the way, Sam and I are gay lovers, practically married, for Christ's sake. Oh, it'll go over real big with him. We'll be lucky if he just dumps our funding right then and there."

"Call him, Al." That intense look was in the kid's eyes, Al thought, right down to the firm line of mouth that meant no nonsense. "I have this feeling that his reaction will surprise you." One warm hand clasped Al's for a moment, the glittering eyes closing briefly. "I'm glad. Whatever happens, it's out now, or will be-when?"

"Six months."

"Then, we don't have to hide it, or worry about what anyone says." A tender smile crossed Sam's expression for a moment. "I can kiss you when I want, where I want. Or you can give me a hug, when you want. I know you're not comfortable with the idea, Al, but, God, I'm glad."

"I'm calling Edward, kid. Maybe you're right about all this being okay, but it scares the hell out of me. I'm a lot older than you, and not as liberal."

"You'll have to get used to it. If you want me to stay with you. I'm as good as married to you, body and soul." The mellow voice went low, eyes warming as he turned his gaze to Al.

Al felt his insides crumble under the words. "All right, Sam. All right." He accepted the light kiss Sam gave him, quieting him even further. "I told you once, when we first figured all this out," Al said softly, as they parted. "I said I wanted to marry you, spend my life with you. I guess it'll be a hell of a lot easier to live together openly then always having to hide it."

"Let's call Edward, and tell him together." A scampish grin crossed Sam's face. "I can't wait to hear you explain this one."

Chapter 27

Calling Edward proved to be a challenge. Al hesitated three times before Sam took the receiver and dialed the number from memory. "He has to know, Al. It's his money that's on the line, and some of ours. Mostly his, and you know. . .Hello?" Grinning Sam leaned back in the chair, always aware of that bright gaze on him, almost frightening in it's intensity. "May I speak to Edward, please? This is Dr. Beckett." He gave Al an encouraging smile. He still didn't look too overly convinced this was a great idea. "Don't worry—it'll be fine. Edward?"

"Christ," Al said, a sudden thought coming to mind. "He's probably still in bed."

"Maybe not. Edward? Yes, he's here, and just fine. We got a bit of news this morning that should be relayed." Hazel eyes widened at the words Edward said to him, glancing at Al for a moment, the returning to the phone call. "You received a package, too? Did you..."

"She sent him a copy?" Al tried to get up from the bed, settling back down at Sam's sharp look. "How the hell does she know about Edward?"

"Just a minute, Edward." Sam set the phone on his shoulder for a moment, expression tight. "It wasn't the author-it was Weeks. That reporter. Maybe that's why he tried calling yesterday."

"Weeks? You didn't tell me that, Sam! That nozzle's been on our ass since the conference."

"Never mind that now. Yes, Edward, I'm still here. You read some of it? And?" A slow grin spread over Sam's face, eyes lighting up triumphantly. He'd known he was right, all along. One of the things he'd discovered while leaping was to trust his instincts about people, especially the ones closest to him. "Yes," he said finally. "It's true. All of it. Thank you, Edward. We'll be seeing you soon, too."

As Sam hung up the phone, Al could hardly contain his curiosity. "What happened? What did he say?"

"It doesn't matter, and that we have a venue for the demonstration. Other than that, he could care less if we have a wedding at Winchester Cathedral, although he thought we should do the right thing. We're lucky we have him, Al. He understands, all the way, and is happy for us both. I have a feeling we never fooled him a second, not that we were actually trying."

"All right then, Sam." Al settled back on the pillows feeling one major bit of worry leave him. "Let's work on getting me out of this damned place and home. With that Weeks bastard involved, I don't want to sit here waiting for him to show up."

"I'll see to it, Al. As best I can. Dr. Martin isn't acting very receptive to me. but I'll talk to her."

"Lay on the charm, nice and thick the way you do that. I've never known you to have anyone less than tight around your little finger. Including myself, though I shouldn't say things like that, even in a moment of weakness." Lacing his fingers through the warm hand near his, he smiled, an expression of pure satisfaction. "You little shit. I love the hell out of you. I want to go home, let you play doctor for a while. The funny thing is, I feel fine, almost normal. Just a stitch in my side from time to time, but nothing like it was yesterday."

"That can't be possible. This isn't going to convince me..."

"I'm not bullshitting you, kid." Al frowned just a touch at the disbelief on Sam's face, the gentle chiding tone in the younger man's voice, as if he were making it all up as yet another reason for him to go home. "It's a little scary, being so beat up yesterday, but I feel great, honestly. I have this suspicion, kid. Call up Ziggy and ask about the Imaging Effect. The long range stuff. You and I both know that no one can recover as rapidly as I am from a car accident. I'm alive, and feeling better than I should."

"I'll ask Ziggy, Al," Sam said evenly. In his mind, the Imaging Chamber had been a thing that had almost killed Al, literally taken his strength and worn him out. Could it be possible Chat after a period of time his body would not only recover, but rehabilitate itself in the event of some major injury? Al hadn't been complaining as much about his ulcer lately, or showing any indication that it was bothering him. Dr. Martin had made no mention of it. "First, though, I have to go get your car. I found the keys in the drawer like you said."

"Good. There's a bunch of junk in there, all in boxes. I've been keeping stuff in there for years."

"I don't see the use. We have a big enough house now-hell, I could bring all that stuff home and save you the expense of storing it."

"If you want to. It's just junk, old stuff." Al could barely remember what he'd dumped in the place, very little remaining from his childhood, most of what was in the locker from his military days, and NASA, paperwork, he thought, and some old clothes. "It'll be something I can go through when I get home, I guess. Or you can. I don't care."

"I'd feel kind of strange digging through your personal things, Al." Sam knew well how reticent his lover was to discuss his past; he'd never seen any photos of Al in his younger days, except that one Beth had on the mantle during the Leap. He'd been struck then, as he had when he actually was Bingo, how life had taken it's toll on that beautiful face.

"It's yours now, Sam. Just as much as it is mine. You gave me your past, everything, even made me a part of your family, at least with Katie and your Mom. I sort of wish you could've met Trudy, and my Dad. He and you could've really talked. He was a great guy, like your Dad. Solid, down to Earth, but he wanted to see the world. Loved the hell out of me and Trudy, even if he was a wanderer. Like me in a way, until I had to settle down."

"We'll do things together, Al." Sam bent and kissed the warm lips beneath his face, satisfied at the peace in the brown eyes. "You'll be with me, safe, and happy. I'm going to keep you happy, Al. Maybe for the first time in your life."

"This is getting morbidly soppy, Sam."

"I'm into sentiment today, my love." His free hand rested on the manuscript still lying near Al on the bed. "Maybe this will make us closer, not having to hide anymore. We're free, and it doesn't matter who knows."

"Yup," Al agreed. That particular weight had lifted, too. "We're free."

Sam discovered that the storage area Al rented hadn't been opened in months, perhaps years. Dust coated the cover over the Corvette, Greg fairly whistling with admiration as they pulled the tarp off the vehicle.

"Why the hell is he hiding this beauty?" Greg circled the car, fingers just gracing the smooth finish. He glanced up at Sam, wondering what kind of expression was hidden by the dark glasses the other man wore. "Al is one complex dude. Literally hiding a perfectly good car like this..."

"We'll have to have her towed. The guy that owns this place offered, and I'm taking him up on it. We'll have to load these boxes into your car, though." Al was right—there was only a few containers, taped and sealed, also covered with dust. "We can pick up my Jeep from the garage when we deliver the Corvette. She needs a little body work, " he said, glancing at the nasty dent that marred the front end of the car. Wondered for a moment if Al had been hurt when it happened, as usual, neglecting to tell him that part of the story.

"Sam?"

"I'll go talk to the manager, have the car towed." Sam began to move off, only hesitating as Greg touched his arm. "What?"

"You okay?" The wide blue eyes probed deeply into the hazel. "You're acting a little off. Not that I'm noticing."

"I think I'm just overwhelmed. What I need is a night alone, to gather my wits and get my head together. It's not that I mind having you and 'Bena around, but I need space. Al's coming home soon, and I'll be concentrating on his recovery for a while. What I need tonight is maybe to take care of myself for a change."

"Sounds like a good idea, Sam. What else?" Greg sat down on the ruined front bumper of the Corvette, setting one foot on the chrome. "It's more than that."

"I look at this place." Sam glanced around the compartment, taking in the boxes, the car. "This is all Al has of his past. There's nothing in the house, no pictures, or things from his family. He's entrusted this stuff to me." He grinned slightly, shaking his head. "In true Beckett style, I'm probably reading more into this than I should."

"It's not the things that matter, Sam."

"Don't you think I know that? Al tells me that, all the time, and I know because I spent three years without anything, including my reflection, or even remembering where I lived. It's something that ties us together, gives Al and I a foundation. We're going to live openly, Greg. You should know that, now."

"What brought this on?"

"I can't go into all of it, but call it circumstances. Or fate." He toyed with the ring he wore, still not quite accustomed to it's presence on his finger. "We don't have the choice we would've liked to have. Pretty soon, the whole world will know about us, and we decided to not be hypocritical about it. Al is scared, Greg. He hides it so well, you'd never know, but he's not happy about it. The problem is, I'm so happy it's over; the hiding, the falseness, when I want to shout to the world that I love him."

"And you're a little scared, too. It's a pretty scary thing to come out of the closet, Sam. I stayed in for a long time, years. I felt like I led a double life, with no one to turn to except Mark."

"I'm scared for Al, and the way people he's known for years will treat him. Some will understand, some won't. He has so little of his past left to him. and I'm worried that I'll take what's left away."

"Whoa. That's his decision, Sam. You know the man—he'll tell you that's so much bullshit, and brush the whole thing off. He loves you—Christ, just the way he looks at you when he thinks you're not seeing it. That man is damned happy. Believe me, he spent a few long hours in that office of yours, while you were gone, eating his heart out over you. He didn't know what it was, or how to deal with what he was feeling, and it wasn't my place to say. Verbena kept an eye on him, like a tiger, over her cub. He fought like hell to keep the place together while you were gone, protecting you, your interests, the Project, itself. One thing I do know is that Admiral Calavicci can take care of the people that might make snide comments about his lifestyle. Or you."

"I've lost my brother." A lost tone crept into Sam's voice. "It's something I can't talk to Al about, because he'll feel damned guilty. Tom won't, won't ever accept what we have, Greg. It doesn't hurt—not yet, because I have Al around."

"You have Katie. She's a regular kick in the butt, as Al would say." He'd met the woman briefly when she'd visited, and liked her warm banter. "Tom might come around, in time. I think he has delayed stress, Sam. Just from what you've told me about him, and the way he ballistically reacts to everything. Has he ever had rehab?"

"He won't talk about it. I don't think so." This subject was too painful, the guilt he associated with preventing Tom from dying still close to the surface.

"Let's get this damn thing to the garage. I want to go check on Al one more time, then home."


	43. Chapter 43

To Sam's immense relief. Dr. Martin informed him that Al could be released in forty-eight hours. She still had many unanswerable questions, mostly about the Admiral's recuperative powers and his own problems, which he didn't answer. Al was at his bitching and moaning self, not wanting to spend another moment in the bed, or in the hospital. The sandwich Sam smuggled in seemed to settle him down on the food subject.

"Turkey and stuff. Green stuff." Al picked morosely at the lettuce. "I thought you'd have more imagination than this. What I wanted was corned beef on rye, extra kraut."

"Which the nurses six rooms down can detect if they have the keen sense of smell I suspect they have. Slide over."

"If you're thinking what I think you're thinking..."

"Right. You have to be kidding." Sam grinned, sliding onto the mattress and holding his friend close for a moment before releasing him. "You looked like you could use company. Read any more of the book?"

"It'll be Times best seller material-one of those expose things. The Navy'11 really have my butt in a sling. I'm going to have my lawyer look over the damned thing. Margaret says I'm getting sprung in two days." The grin that crossed the older man's face was more than pleased. "She's at a loss of words to explain all this recovery stuff, Sam. I hope Ziggy can give you a few answers."

"I'm spending the night alone tonight. I sent 'Bena packing home so I can work in peace." Closing his eyes, Sam leaned back on the pillows, smiling as Al gripped his hand tightly. "I got your boxes out of the storage, and the car. The shop said she'll be out next week, tops. Maybe two hundred dollars damage, but they've got a wizard who can fix her right up. She's a beautiful car, Al."

"Yeah, well." Turning his head away for a moment, Al glanced out the window, avoiding Sam's gaze. "She's a dream machine. I haven't drove the thing since we built Leap in '89. You might not remember that-I just shoved her into storage because we had the other car, the Starbright model, the one I just totaled. I'm going to miss that beast, Sam."

"It's gone, probably scrap by now. We'll build another someday, twice as great. It's just a car, Al."

"So you say." His gaze was still averted. "It was the only part of you that I had when you were gone, Sam. There wasn't much else I could've handled being near all that time. Wouldn't go in your office, stayed the hell away from home most of the time. The 'Vette was time before, all the bad time, and some good, there. Flight training, driving cross country."

"And now we can do the same with it, make new memories. Edward wants us to visit in California." Sam reached with his hand and gently turned Al's eyes to face him. "I want to feel the road in that car, Al. It's a part of you, something I want to experience that I couldn't before. I don't think I would've appreciated it half as much as I will now. That car saved your life on the Leap, and Chip."

"That she did," Al said softly, remembering what Sam had told him about the parts of that time he didn't recall. The younger man's mouth was temptingly close to his and he took supreme advantage, kissing him deeply, with as much feeling as he could muster up. "I want to go home, Sam," he said as their lips parted. "Now!"

"Isn't going to happen." Sam moved off the bed, reluctantly. "I'll call you tonight, before I go to bed." He grinned. "Don't whine."

"You've been waiting to use that line on me for years, haven't you?"

"How could you tell?" Grinning, Sam made his exit, just missing the pillow that slammed against the door as it closed behind him.

Once he was settled in front of Ziggy, Sam thought, he could think. The screen, the keyboard under his fingers, made him settle into another mode where he didn't have flashbacks or worries. First and foremost, he wanted to know why Al had recovered so quickly, and if it had something to do with the Imaging Process.

Ziggy seemed surprised and rather indignant that he hadn't asked her sooner. The information she provided was startling in it's scope. If what she said was true, and data seemed to back that up, the Imaging Process had taken it's toll on Al, but given him back more than it had dished out. In it's way, it was a time machine in itself, slowing down the aging process to almost nothing. It was far from a Fountain of Youth, the effects only temporary.

As Sam stared at the screen he found himself relaxing in the results. The age difference between him and Al had bothered him very little, except that it meant that, barring acts of God, he'd outlive his friend. The thought of living beyond Al' s time was enough to make him sink into a dark depression. With the Imaging Process, if the data held up, Al's age had receded, at least in the physical sense. It wasn't noticeable in his outward appearance, but internally, he was rejuvenated, which explained his quick recovery from the accident. His healing process was quickened, at least for now, until age caught up with him. In simple terms, Al would age with him. grow old with him.

It took some time for him to manage to switch the computer off. The miracle had something to do with the combination of quantum energy and the radium ring that surrounded the Imaging Chamber. What would Al say to this? Once he was home, Sam decided, switching off the modem, and not before that would he tell him.

The boxes they'd removed from the storage area were stacked neatly in the garage. Al had asked him to go through them, hadn't he? As tired as he felt, he still was curious enough to want to see what was in the sealed containers. One by one, he carried them into the living room. The tape on them nearly crumbled in his fingers. The first box was mostly old clothes, smelling of wool and moth balls. A potable combination. Uniforms, from the fifties, and sixties, he guessed. The next was more interesting, but mostly things he felt uncomfortable opening without Al being there to supervise. He grinned at a well-leafed Playboy—the first one, he recalled, with Marilyn Monroe on the cover. A ratty photo album, better left unopened, and some paperwork in crumbling binders. One fell open, inquisitive eyes glancing over the yellowed document. Birth certificate proving one Albert Calavicci was born in Brooklyn, New York, June fifteenth, 1934. Mother, Rose, father, Salvidieo. Hidden away in this box for twenty years, Sam thought, shaking his head. His was around, where he could find it at ease, but not hidden away like this. Al had a habit of shoving his past into dark, musty places, where it wouldn't hurt as much.

"I hope I'm not disturbing you, Dr. Beckett."

Sam dropped the folder back into the box, turning at the intruder's voice. Robert Weeks, tanned, neat suit, dark hair combed straight back, stood there, hands on hips. As if he owned the place, Sam thought, taking over the room with his presence. "How did you get through security?" he snapped, quickly closing the box over the personal documents. With this guy he could have X-Ray vision, see right through cardboard. He got up quickly, heading straight for the phone. So much for a nice, quiet evening at home.

"You have two choices. Doctor." Weeks leaned against the counter as Sam punched the number into the receiver. "I didn't bring a camera, not even a tape recorder. You have the story of the century in your head, and I want it. Exclusive. Either you tell me about the Project, or I'm releasing Diane Sheridan's book to the press en masse. I know by now you've read at least the last chapter."

"Is this some attempt at blackmail?" Relaxing as much he could, Sam sat down on the stool trading the man glare for glare. "It isn't going to work. Al and I decided to live openly from now on, whether the public knows it or not. I'm sure your department head at CNN would love to hear about this attempt at harassment. You're acting more like Geraldo Rivera than the head news correspondent at the most trusted media organization in the country. I wouldn't have expected this of you, except I remember a certain airport, and what you asked me there. It got my attention. My mother had just died, Mr. Weeks. You weren't polite, it wasn't exactly professional. It hurt, like it was supposed to. This tactic won't get my attention, or entering our home without knocking. Now, if you want to sit down, and just talk, like a reasonable human being, maybe have a cup of coffee, that's fine. Other than that, I can't tell you anymore. The Project is classified, and it's over. If you want news, call Edward St. John. He informs us that you delivered a similar package to him this morning, just like the one the Admiral received. It didn't faze him, or get the reaction you wanted, like the one you expected I'd give you."

"Homosexuality isn't exactly in style this year, Dr. Beckett. I know you have plans for a new Project, and it won't go over all that well with that particular subject hanging over yours and the Admiral's head."

"It won't matter. Do what you want. I guess you'll make up your mind how to handle this. If you don't want coffee, or small talk, I think you'd better leave. Or I'll have you escorted out." Sam got up from the chair, brushing past the reporter to hold the door open for him to leave. "Nice seeing you again, Mr. Weeks. Don't bother to call. I'm screening every single one."

"And you. Dr. Beckett. We'll talk, one way or the other, soon. Be sure to get a paper tomorrow."

Wonderful, Sam thought, closing the door behind the man, just barely refraining from slamming the thing on his ass. It wouldn't hurt to give the private security a call, he thought. If Al were here, he'd ream them out one side and down the other. Just as he laid his hand on the receiver, it rang, startling him half out of his skin. Catching his breath, he snatched up the instrument, taking slow breaths to calm himself. "Yes?" he snapped.

"This is Edward. Samuel? I mean, Sam? Is something wrong? You sound angry."

"No, no. Sorry. I just had an unexpected guest—that reporter that sent you the book." Slumping on a stool, he leaned heavily on the counter, tapping his fingers against his forehead. "He wasn't exactly cordial."

"You don't exactly need this now, with Albert in hospital, and this book coming out soon. I called because I wanted to offer my help in any way I can. It seems to me that security is called for."

"The firm we hired isn't exactly adequate. Weeks just walked into the house. Partially my fault, not locking the door and being distracted. I've got a lot on my mind."

"I can justly imagine. I can provide the best security possible, to protect you and the Admiral from this...vermin. I received a phone call, quite abrupt and to the point. Mr. Weeks. He wanted details about our Project and I was reticent to offer him anything but the barest of details. I can assume he will carry through on the threat he tossed in my lap, that he'll have the book in every news service tomorrow."

"I got the same bad news. There's nothing we can do, but let them have at it."

"I can do something. I'm sending the very best security possible, my private group, and Grant Winters. As for Mr. Weeks..." His voice turned faintly threatening. "He will be...dealt with."

"Edward, please." Sam wanted to protest, but knew he and Al had little choice. "If we need security, in an emergency. I can always call the base."

"Mr. Winters will be discreet and thorough. I insist, Samuel. Please don't argue with me. You've been spending too much time with the Admiral. He's on his way now, with five men, to keep you safe at the house, and Albert at the hospital. No one will disturb the house, I promise you."

It seemed, Sam thought, hanging up at the conclusion of the call, that Edward had taken over the care taking of his and Al's life. A good friend, who knew how to take care of a situation, anticipated trouble, and smoothed it over. Mr. Winters would be there in a couple of hours. Sam didn't want to think about what the morning would bring.

Sam had practically stayed up through the night, unable to sleep, impatient and worried about what sort of incarnation the invasion would take this time. Grant appeared around ten p.m. and Sam liked him instantly, a smiling giant of a man, black hair tied back in a pony tail, dressed completely in black, despite the July heat, dressed in a heavy leather jacket. He didn't ask in or take Sam up on his offer of a drink, simply stated that he was there and watching, others at the hospital, and that he was perfectly safe and secure. Then, he disappeared into the darkness outside the front lights, not even a car visible to mark his presence.

"Great," Sam muttered, closing the door. "I'm being guarded by the Shadow- hell, the Shadow's big brother."

The phone was ringing again. We have to get this number changed, he thought, snatching up the phone.

"What the hell is going on, Sam?"

"Al?" A smile of pure delight crossed the younger man's face at the sound of his friends' voice. "Edward sent some security for us. I had... a visitor."

"Weeks. I know. Sam, this is getting way out of hand. Edward gave me a call, too, and I think it'd be best if you went and phoned 'Bena or Greg to stay the night there with you. "

"I don't need a baby-sitter, Al. Grant is here, watching the house."

"The big gorilla. Ex-pro wrestler—the Braineater. I remember that one, Sam. He gave me a visit before going to the house."

"He's a wrestler?"

"Was. And didn't like me remembering where I'd seen him before. Seems like a pretty nice guy, but scary looking."

"He'll keep the worst away." Sam took the handheld phone into the living room, dropping on the couch and falling back into the soft leather. "Edward is a godsend."

"Our security service sucks, Sam. Edward is thinking ahead, and I don't mind it a damned bit. Don't, repeat, don't come to the hospital tomorrow. I think I'll be coming home, and I can have our guardian angels drive me home. The hospital administrator got read the riot act from me, conned Margaret into springing my butt out of this place. We don't know what kind of reaction the press will have to all of this, Sam. I don't want you in the middle of it, or me."

"We'll be in the middle, Al. And I'm not afraid, just tired. Beyond belief. Ziggy and I worked together tonight. I can't tell you what we discovered over the phone."

"This oughta be a good one," Al grumbled, more good naturedly than ill- tempered. "Get some sleep." His voice dropped a fraction, making Sam strain to hear him. "I'll be there in the morning to kiss you awake."

"I'll try. Al, I've been going through these boxes. It's clothes and personal stuff, things I want us to look at together. Maybe tomorrow." He caught his fingers grasping desperately at the phone, wanting to stay connected to his friend in this small way.

"Okay, Sam. I hate hanging up, too. You need your sleep, and I'd better crash or Margaret will have my butt in the morning. 'Night, love."

"Good-night, Al. I love you." With a heavy heart, Sam set the phone down on the floor and closed his eyes, one arm falling over his forehead. He wanted to switch on the television, maybe watch an old movie, or the news. Maybe there was a foreshadowing of Weeks' threat. He didn't want to know if there was, or what kind of way they'd report Al's book. Maybe the entertainment news, he grinned, thinking that it would be on the must read list for every voyeur in America.

It would do no good to just lay on the couch and vegetate. He shut off the lights as he went from room to room, and wandered out to the patio, falling on the chaise and staring up at the stars overhead. Out here, in the open air, he could see every bit of silver, even bits reflected in the unlit pool. There was only the faintest of sounds; traffic on 54, wild animals in the desert outside the back wall, bricked and solid against their intrusion. Their house was the only one in this area, secluded, and he thought, private.

It was still warm, the heat of the day this time of year not exactly dissipating into the dark of night, like it would later, when Fall came. He got up from the lounge and went to the wall, leaning over the edge, staring at the vast expanse of desert and moon reflected white sand. It looked like a photo of the Moon, alien and wildly beautiful. He felt alone in the midst of it, like Leaping, without the Observer at his shoulder, just time and space in front of him. It was the future, for him and Al, in those dunes and sparkling sand. The place they'd always call home.


End file.
